No Day But Today (Sequel to Guilt)
by tarnished glitter
Summary: Mark stops taking his AZT to pay for Roger's therapy...lots of angst and M/R. **COMPLETE** Updated 9/3. I didn't change that much, just fixed up the last chapter and rewrote the end because I wasn't happy with it.
1. Default Chapter

A/N: I don't think I'll be updating Cat Scratch Club anytime soon, I'm really stuck on the second chapter, so I decided to take a break on that for a while and to write a sequel to Guilt. Thanks so much everyone who reviewed it, your reviews really made me very happy. These characters don't belong to me, they're products of the late great Jonathan Larson.

Mark POV:

            "Roger!"  I get up off the couch and walk over to Roger's door, knocking on it loudly. "Roger, time for lunch!"

            He swings the door open and glares at me.

            "It's been six months. You don't have to babysit me anymore."

            I don't answer and watch his lean figure as he walks over to the table and sits down in front of the sandwich I put out for him. He brings it to his mouth and is about to take a bite but then drops it and turns to look at me instead.

            "You know, you don't have to breathe down my neck every time I eat something. I haven't…done anything…is half a year, when are you going to loosen up?"

            I shake my head and look down at his too slim form. "You're still too thin Rog…"

            He rolls his eyes and takes a bite out of his sandwich and chews carefully before responding.  To my amazement, he actually nods. "I know but you can't expect me to gain back 50 pounds overnight. I _am_ gaining, and I'm not doing anything…unhealthy anymore."  He takes another bite of his sandwich.

            That logic I can't argue with, and I'm glad to have no return argument. He's right. In the six months that he's been seeing Dr. Gomez he's gained a lot of weight and eats pretty much normally except for the few times when something major has happened and he slipped back into old behaviors for a few days. But, I have to credit him the few times that did happen, because every time he admitted it to me and allowed me to help him through whatever it was. To say the least, I'm kind of shocked at how much progress he made. To go from not being able to so much as look at food without having a panic attack to where he is now…well, you have to give the boy credit.

            I hear him sigh and I come out of my daze to find him looking at me again, his lunch half finished.

            "If you're going to watch me like that can you at least _pretend_ you're doing something else?"

            I smile and sit down on the couch, turning on the TV and start flipping through the few channels we get that actually have decent reception. "Just tell me if you need help, okay?"

            From the reflection in the TV screen I see him nod and return to his sandwich, and I smile, glad that things are finally starting to look up for a change.

Roger POV:

            Just as I take the last bite of my sandwich I hear my beeper go off and I reach down to shut it off. I stand up and go over to the kitchen counter and turn around to Mark who's sitting on the couch, watching some corny made for TV movie, and jokingly say, "Mark, take your AZT."  I've been having fun getting back at him for all these years of nagging and nagging, constantly reminding me to take my medicine. My smile disappears though as he doesn't move from the couch, but instead turns to face me with a somewhat guilty expression beneath the surface of his face, and refuses to meet my eyes.

            "I took it before."

            "Bullshit. What's wrong?"  I make my way over to the couch and sit down next to him.

            "Nothing's wrong Roger, I already took it today. That's all."  He stares down at the scratchy wood surface of the floor, refusing to look up at me. Mark's always been a horrible liar, and I've always been able to read his mood and his feelings. And right now he is guilty and afraid, and I know there is definitely something he's not telling me.

            I lift his chin so he's eyelevel to me, trying to catch his swimming vision as he tries to look anywhere else but into my eyes. But our eyes finally do lock and I hold his gaze for a moment before asking, "Mark, what's going on? What aren't you telling me?"

Mark POV:

            Shit shit shit shit shit. All right, so he discovered my secret…just breathe, he doesn't have to know why… "It's just - I don't know…you went for months before you started taking AZT and, well, we can't exactly afford it right now…I can go without out it for a while, it won't hurt me too much…"

            "Yeah you're right. You know what? We can't exactly afford food right now either. Maybe I should stop eating, I mean, I can go without it for a while and it won't hurt me that bad."

            "Roger…" I shake my head at him. "That's not funny."

            "Well it's about as funny as you not taking your AZT. How long have you gone without it?"

            I shrug helplessly.  "Not that long, maybe…a week?"  Or three weeks and two days counting…close enough…

            "Mark, how could you do that? I thought you were smarter than that!" He sighs in frustration and looks at me pleadingly.  "Look, I know money's been tight around here lately but you can NOT just stop taking the thing that's keeping you alive."  He jumps off the couch and runs over to the counter, pouring a glass of water and returning with his own AZT.  "Here, take mine, okay?"  Before I can respond the white pill is being shoved into my hand and the glass of water nearly poured down my throat. "And first thing tomorrow morning we're going out and getting you your own." 

             I nod even though I know I won't really do it and he smiles, then goes into his room, leaving me alone to sit in my own world of thoughts.

            Well, that went well. I wasn't lying to him exactly…I just didn't tell him the whole story. Truth is, money's been pretty tight around the loft lately. We could barely afford the money for Roger's AZT and food before, now add to that _my_ AZT plus the cost of his therapy. There's no way we can afford all that. Roger thinks I just stopped taking my meds. But the truth is I never started in the first place. He doesn't know how bad the situation really is because he thinks all this time we've had the money to pay for the extra expense of my meds, but in reality we haven't. I haven't picked up one single AZT prescription. 

            Roger's still sick. We can't afford both my meds and his therapy so the choice was easy to make. People live for years with HIV without taking AZT, without even knowing they have it, so I should be fine for a while, as long I do start taking it soon. But if Roger's anorexia comes back full force again he could die in a few short months. So for now, it's Roger's therapy over my AZT.

            I open up the New York Times that was on the coffee table and start looking through the help wanted ads, looking optimally for a filming job but at this point I'd take anything I could get.

A/N: Sorry for such a crappy ending for this chapter, I couldn't think of anything else to do.


	2. Take your AZT

Mark POV:

            "Rog?"  I grab my coat from the closet and knock on his door.

            The door swings open as I slip my jacket on and he looks at his watch.  "It's 2:00, I just had lunch two hours ago, you can't tell me it's time for dinner already!"

            I laugh.  "No, I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving for work now."

            I can't help but laugh again at the look of utter confusion on his face.

            "Work?? Since when do you have a job?"

            "I got a job as a waiter at the Life. Not the greatest job in the world but we could use the extra money. Anyway, it's just temporary, until I can find something better."  I turn to leave but suddenly find myself being pulled back by my arm.

            "Are you sure that's the greatest idea, Mark? Maybe you should just stay home. I mean, you've been looking kind of sick lately…"  He drops my arm and looks me over for a second, his questioning gaze searching me before finally meeting my own.  "Have you been taking your AZT? You really don't look so good…"

            I drop my eyes to the floor and stare at his boots for a second before responding.

            "Yes Rog, you know I have been. I'm just tired, I didn't get much sleep last night."  I hurry across the room and pick up my black and white scarf from the kitchen table, draping it over my shoulders as I say, "Make sure you eat dinner, Roger," and am out the door before he even has a chance to react.

            Once on the street, I wrap my arms around myself, attempting to retain any semblance of body heat. The day is cold for mid March and I'm freezing, although I'm clad in two long sleeved shirts, a wool jacket, and a scarf. Shivering, I make my way to the Life Café, staring at the pedestrians walking by me in their short skirts and shorts, tank tops and tee shirts, who are seemingly immune to the cold that is making my body turn to ice and shake with chills.

            Finally I reach my destination and walk into the café, grateful that the air conditioning isn't cranked up and blasting like it usually is. I take a few minutes to warm up before heading over to my first table of the night.

            I approach the middle-aged couple and smile, hoping my cheerfulness will get me extra tips.

            "Hello sir, are you ready to order?"

            He opens his mouth to say something but I can't hear the response due to the hacking cough that has suddenly overtaken my body. Oh this is wonderful, I think to myself. What a way to win over the customers and make a good impression my first day at a new job!

            I finally gain control of my body again and the awful coughing spasms stop. The couple looks at me with horrified expressions and I can feel myself turning red and my face growing hot. I'm not sure if it's from humiliation though…it could be from the same thing that's causing white bursts of light to explode before my blackening vision, or whatever it is that's making me suddenly lose my balance and slip to the floor with a dull thud as my body succumbs to the total blackness that is enveloping me quickly, pulling me away and leaving my unconscious body lying on the floor, still under the wide-eyed gaze of the couple in front of me.

Roger POV:

            I walk into the kitchen and start rummaging through the refrigerator and cabinets, looking for something to eat. I think vaguely that this is the first time I've eaten alone in over six months, I could get away with it…But I quickly push the thought out of my mind and pour myself a bowl of Captain Crunch, bringing it to the table with me. I raise the spoon to my mouth and am about to eat it when the phone rings.

            "Saved…"  I pick up the phone, expecting it to be Mark, nagging me to eat dinner.  "Hello? Yes, this is Roger Davis…What? …Yes of course, I'll be right there."

            I slam the phone down and rush out of the loft, barely even touching the four flights of stairs as I fly down them, and run the six blocks to the hospital since I have neither the patience or the money to stop a taxi.

Mark POV:

            "His T-Cells are extremely low, that's why he passed out. I'll have to run a few more tests to be sure but I think he has a condition called Pneumocystis carinii, or PCP, which isn't uncommon in people with HIV who haven't been on any sort of medication. My guess would be that he stopped taking his meds, because his T-Cell count is very low, under 300."

            I feel myself in an unfamiliar location and I try to open my eyes and sit up but they are leaden and seem to have a fifty pound weight holding them down, making it impossible to move or open my eyes.

            "Is he going to be okay?"

            This voice sounds anxious and concerned, much different from the patient, droning voice that had spoken moments ago…and much more familiar too. Though I still can't place it in my black, hazy mind.

            "Yes, he should be fully recovered in a few weeks, a month at the most, provided he takes his AZT and Dapsone, which is what I'm prescribing for his PCP. Make sure he comes in once a week for blood tests. AZT and Dapsone sometimes cause a nasty reaction together.

            "But we don't have health insurance…"

            At this statement I'm able to place a name with the voice. It's Roger.

            "Yes, I know. That's why I'm suggesting Dapsone. It's the least expensive treatment for PCP, only about $30 a month. However, if you would like to discuss other options I would be happy to-"

            "No, no that's ok. Just as long as it makes him better…We'll get the money somehow…" He says this last statement quietly, almost to himself.

            Suddenly it's like the weight has been lifted from my body and I'm able to move a little and open my eyes.

            "R-Roger?"  My voice sounds weak and shaky, and I regret speaking. I am suddenly aware of my surroundings and I look around the white room, wondering where I am.

            Before I know what is happening Roger is at my side, looking down at me anxiously.

            "How do you feel?"

            "Ok I guess…where are we?"

            He swallows hard and blinks back tears.  "The hospital. You're sick because you haven't…your T-Cells are low. Like _really_ low, under 300."  He pauses and by the look on his face I can tell what's coming next.  "You, um…you haven't been taking your AZT have you?"

            I sigh and shake my head slightly. No use lying now, I've been caught and backed up by medical figures. Damn.

            He talks so softly that I can barely hear him and he looks right at me, his deep brown eyes begging me, pleading with me to tell the truth. I also notice a bit of anger hidden beneath the surface, trying to come out but I can tell he's suppressing it. Sad angry maybe.

            "Why not Mark? You said you were."  He sighs sadly.  "How long have you been off it?"

            I stare down at my sterile white sheets and mumble, "I was never on it."

            The anger he was trying to hide beneath the surface of his face comes forward as rage replaces the sadness in his eyes.

            "Why the hell not? Mark, you _know_ how dangerous that can be! Why the hell would you not want to take the thing that's keeping you alive?"

            His words hit me hard and I feel fury rising up in myself as well.

            "Because we have no fucking money, Roger! With your meds and your therapy there's absolutely NOTHING left for me!"  As soon as the words are out of my mouth I instantly regret them when I see the hurt and guilt flash across Roger's face. Shit, I haven't seen that look in six months.  "Oh God Rog, I'm so sorry…"

Roger POV:

            _You bastard,_ the voice in my head chides at me. _You stupid selfish bastard._

            "Mark, I'm so sorry, I had no idea…you should have told me, I could have helped!"

            "No, don't be sorry. It's not your fault, there's nothing you could have done."

            I shake my head.  "No, I could have stopped therapy, or gotten a job…"

            "No way! There's no way I would've let you do either of those things! You're still recovering, you almost _died_ a few months ago and I'm not going to chance you relapsing by letting you stop therapy or get a job. You're sick."

            "So are you."  He pauses and I know he has no argument.

            "Ok Rog, well point is your stuff was more important than mine. I'm only sick, you could have died."  I open my mouth to protest but he cuts me off.  "Yes I know in the long run I could have died too but we're only talking temporary here. And I swear Roger, I'll start taking AZT right away. We'll find a way to get the money. Don't blame yourself, okay? You're not the one who forced me to not take my meds, I did that on my own. My own free will."

            I want to argue, to scream that that's not true and that it _is_ my fault but the look on his face stops me and I just nod, knowing he wouldn't believe it anyway.

            Suddenly the door bursts open and Maureen. Joanne, Collins, Mimi, and Benny rush into the room. I tense when I see Benny enter. Who the fuck called him?

            Maureen rushes over to Mark and flops down beside him in the chair next to his bed.  "Roger told us what happened, Pookie. Are you okay?"

            "Well, he hasn't taken his AZT in over a year," I mutter under my breath. Benny and Mimi, who were standing within earshot glance at each other and I see Mimi whisper something to Benny, who clears his throat and looks at Mark and me.

            "I'll pay for your treatment and AZT for a while. You know, until you can get something else set up…"

            Mark looks about as shocked as I feel and he smiles widely, though somewhat uncertainly.  "Thanks Benny." 

            After chatting for a while, everyone decides to go to the cafeteria and get something to eat since it's 8:00 already and most of us hadn't had dinner.

            Maureen, Joanne, Collins, Mimi, Benny and I, walk down the winding halls of the hospital, trying to find the cafeteria. Everyone is silent, sensing the tension that hangs heavily in the air. They don't know how much better I've gotten when it comes to eating in public, or even that I've pretty much gotten over my anorexia in general. But, I can't help questioning myself, if I've gotten over my eating disorder, why is my heart pounding in my chest like it did so many months ago? Why am I having trouble breathing and why am I breaking out in a cold sweat?

            We finally find the cafeteria and when we get on line to buy our food I'm struck with the worst food anxiety that I've had in half a year. I can't breathe, my heart is racing, my hands shaking, and the voices that I've always dreaded so much return to the back of my mind, criticizing, patronizing, and belittling me as always.

            _Mark is sitting in that hospital bed because of _you._ It's because of _you _he didn't take his AZT. You're so fucking selfish, all you ever think about is yourself! You don't deserve food…you don't deserve anything you selfish bastard. You don't deserve anything except pain and punishment because that's what you cause for everyone else, and that's what you deserve in return._

            It's true. The haunting voices are right, as usual. I don't deserve food. There's no fucking way I'm eating now.

            So standing in that line behind my friends, I make a decision right then and there. For as long as Mark is in the hospital, not a single bite of food will enter my mouth. I'm determined to punish myself for doing this to him…again.

*~*1 Week Later*~*

Mark POV:

            Roger helps me up the stairs to the loft since my legs are still a little weak after spending the past seven days lying in a hospital bed. But aside from that, I'm feeling a lot better. I still have that hacking cough, but it's getting better with each passing day. I started taking my AZT and Dapsone, compliments of Benny, and my T-Cell count has gone way up, much to the delight of all my friends and doctors. 

Since my doctor said I wasn't in immediate danger anymore, he discharged me today and let me come home to the loft, provided that I go back to the hospital once a week for blood tests.

            But as Roger and I walk the four flights of stairs up to the loft, I can't help but notice the change in our roles. As we get closer to the top, Roger needs to lean on me more and more for support, and suddenly it's _me_ that's supporting _him. _And surprisingly, I'm able to do that with no problem whatsoever. He seems almost weaker than me and I've been lying in the hospital with Pneumocystis carinii for a week.

            "Are you okay Rog?"

            He turns to look at me with lifeless eyes and nods, exuding exhaustion with every movement.

            When we finally reach the loft we walk in and Roger collapses on the couch. I, however, stand frozen in the doorway, looking around at the obsessively organized and spotless loft in shock and suspicion. I go over to the kitchen and open a few cabinets, confirming my fears. One of them contains a few cereal boxes, arranged in both color and alphabetical order, another is filled with color arranged snack foods, one of them contains pasta, another with dairy products, and so on and so forth.

            "Roger! What the hell is this?"

            He snaps his head up from where it was resting on the arm of the sofa, looking shocked. Probably because I've never spoken to him so harshly like that before, unless we were fighting. But I can't help it, we've both worked so hard for him to get to the point in his recovery that he's at now and I refuse to let him relapse now. Not now, when he's almost all the way there.

            "What are you talking about?"  His voice sounds like an almost forced angry.

            "You know what I'm talking about!" I exclaim, motioning to the cabinets and all the other ridiculously organized things in the loft.

            "I did that to welcome you home! Jeez, you don't have to have a heart attack about it."

            I look at him skeptically, wondering if I should believe him or not. My heart is telling me to but my brain is protesting and won't let me fall into this trap.

            "Oh please, Roger. You don't honestly expect me to believe that?"

            "Jesus Mark, I only cleaned up to welcome you home! I didn't want you to have to come home to a messy apartment and I thought the dust would irritate your cough and make you worse! I've been fine for half a year now, stop being so goddamn suspicious all the time!"

            I sigh, still debating whether or not to believe this. Finally, I give in to my heart and drop my suspicions…for now anyway.  "Alright Rog, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to act so suspicious but…I just don't want you to get sick again. You have to understand that."

            His face softens a little and an expression I can't quite read –maybe guilt? – flashes across his face.  "I do understand that. I'm fine though, you know that. I'm not going to relapse, I'd tell you if I started having problems again. Haven't I always in the past?"

            I nod, glad that I can't argue with that.  "I know. Just, let me know if you _do_ need help, okay?"

            He nods and then gives me a small smile before scampering into his room, closing the door behind him.

Roger POV:

            Shit, that was close. Too damn close. I should have known he'd be so observant. But thank God he seemed to believe me. I feel guilty lying to him but I can't let him know I'm doing this again. I'd forgotten how good it feels to be so in control over everything. It almost compensates for the constant burning pain in my stomach that remains with me every waking moment of the day. Almost makes up for the intense fear and feeling that I'm about to have a heart attack whenever I so much as look at food or think about eating. 

Almost. But oh well, there's no turning back now. And I know I deserve this pain, this punishment. The little voice in the back of my mind reminds me of that every time I see Mark, or think about how my therapy and my problems stopped Mark from taking his meds, which landed him in the hospital…because of me. Always because of me. Dammit, why do I always end up hurting him so much when all he ever tries to do is help me? It's just not fair.

Mark POV:

            I look at my watch and frown. It's 7:00 and Roger still hasn't come out of his room for dinner. Ever since our argument when I came home from the hospital last week, I've been trying to lighten up on him, trying to give him a little more freedom. 

I knock on his door and get no reply. I frown again. Come to think of it, I don't think he's come out of his room once today. I try the doorknob but it's locked. Figures. Oh well, I know how to get him out of there real fast. I go into a coughing fit, the dry hacking coughs that have been wracking my body for the past three weeks. Although the coughing fits are now few and far between. It works though, Roger comes rushing out of his room, rubbing my back and trying to sooth my body. I almost feel guilty for tricking him like this.

            "You okay Mark?" he asks when I'm done coughing.

            I nod.  "Yeah. Are you? You haven't come out of your room at all today."

            "Uh, yeah…I was sleeping."

            "Oh. Well, it's almost 7:00 now. You must be starving, do you want something to eat?" I ask hopefully.

            "Um…no, that's ok, I'll have something later. I'm working on lyrics to a new song and I can't take a break or I'll lose them."

            I look at him suspiciously.  "You just said you were sleeping."

            He pauses for a second before responding.  "Yeah, I was before but I woke up and started working on the song."

            I shake my head disapprovingly.  "Roger…"

            "I swear! I can prove it."  He goes into his room again and returns a minute later with a piece of paper with some lyrics scrawled on it.

            I scan the paper and then sigh. "Fine…but, you'll have something later right?"

            He nods.  "Yeah, as soon as I'm done with this."

Roger POV:

            I go into my room quickly and shut the door, leaving behind a very confused and most likely suspicious Mark. I put the yellow piece of paper back on my desk and go back to what I was doing: organizing my drawers by color and types of clothing.

            An hour later I hear that annoying knock on my door again. I groan, knowing I can't avoid this forever and open the door, coming face to face with Mark holding out a bowl of soup.

            "Hungry now?"

            I sigh, knowing I can't fool him forever. For the past two weeks I've managed to get away with not eating by conveniently having rehearsal or going out with friends at meal times. And when that failed, I managed to trick him into thinking I was eating by dropping the food in my lap or spitting it out in my cup when he wasn't looking. But that won't work forever and I know he's already starting to get suspicious again.

            I sigh again and stare at the chicken noodle soup being thrust in my face.  "Okay, fine."

            I sit down at the kitchen table and manage to choke half the bowl of soup down my throat but the pain in my stomach from having food in it for the first time in days and the racing of my heart let me know that I won't be able to manage much more. So, looking at Mark sitting on the other side of the room, pretending not to watch every move I make, I decide that I can't take this and since he probably already knows what's going on anyway, I decide to make a run for the bathroom.

Mark POV:

            As I flip through the pages of the New York Times, I suddenly hear a chair scraping against the floor and look up just in time to see Roger get up quickly and run to the bathroom. I throw down the newspaper and run after him, reaching him just as he's about to close the door. I grab him around the stomach but draw back quickly when I realize that most of his stomach is made up of the material of God knows how many layers of clothes. I could barely feel his stomach there at all…but there were plenty of bones.

            "Shit Roger, what the hell did you do to yourself?"

            He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, obviously not having an excuse for shedding about 20 pounds from his already way too thin148 lb. frame in just two weeks.

            "You haven't been eating have you?"

His face looks desperate and scared and for a second I think he's about to protest but then he slams the bathroom door shut, locks it, and turns on the shower faucets. Even though he knows full well that I know what he's really doing in there.

            I try to pry the door open for a few minutes before finally giving up, realizing there's nothing I can do to get in there and make him stop throwing up. But there _is_ something else I can do.

            I go over to the phone and look up Dr. Gomez's number, praying she's still at her office. The phone rings once, twice, three times, and after the fourth ring I'm about to hang up when I hear her voice on the other end.

            "Hello? Dr. Gomez?"

            "Yes, who is this?"

            "Oh, um, I'm Mark Cohen. Roger Davis' friend."

            "Oh yes, Mark, how are you? And how is Roger?"

            "Wait, haven't you still seeing him?"

            There's a pause on the other end. "No, Roger stopped therapy about three weeks ago…I assumed you knew…"

            "No, I didn't know. Um, is it still too late to schedule him for appointments again?"

            There's another pause and I hear papers shuffling before she responds again.  "Well I'll be available in two weeks, I'm sorry, I'm booked until then."

            I sigh.  "Okay, that's fine. I'll see you in two weeks."

            I slam down the phone and cringe as I hear gagging noises coming from the bathroom above the running water. There may be nothing I can do about this now but we are _definitely_ going to have a talk when he comes out of there.


	3. The Voices

Rover POV:

            I splash cool water on my face and run the faucets over my head for a few seconds, before sinking to the ground, exhausted. Six days with no food and counting. I can't keep this up, I know I have to eat something sooner or later to keep me going. I wasn't lying when I told Mark I was asleep for most of the day. I'm completely exhausted, it's getting to be an effort just to drag myself from one room to another.

            As soon as I shut off the running water in the shower, I hear pounding on the other side of the door. I sigh and let my head fall back against the bathroom wall. I don't want to deal with this right now. There is no way I can lie myself out of this situation, I've been caught and we both know there's nothing I can do about it. I stare at the open window for a second, wondering if I could just climb down the fire escape to avoid facing Mark. But I know that really won't solve anything, it would only make things worse when I returned. Because I know eventually I would have to return.

            There's banging on the door again.  "Roger, get out now!!"

            I check myself in the mirror once more to make sure I'm not quite so red anymore and hesitantly push open the door part way. Mark wrenches the door open all the way and grabs my wrist, pulling me sharply into the living room.

            "What the hell do you think you're trying to pull? Throwing up, stopping therapy?"

            I stare at the floor and when I don't answer he sighs in frustration and continues.

            "How long has this been going on Roger? And don't give me any bullshit excuse 'cause I'm not buying it this time."

            "I'm…I'm sorry, okay? I just-"  I'm cut off by the ringing of the phone. _Saved._

            Mark grabs the phone off the receiver and his expression and demeanor softens a bit as the conversation between him and, Joanne apparently, continues.

            As I listen to him rattle on and on, the room begins to sway in front of me and I lie down on the couch, feeling sick to my stomach. Mark hears me flop onto the couch and turns to face me, looking anxious and concerned and then mumbles some excuse to Joanne and hangs up the phone, rushing to my side.

            "Roger? Are you ok?"

            I just barely nod and he hurries into the kitchen, returning with a large glass of water. He holds it up to my mouth, helping me sit up, and I sip it, embarrassed at being treated like a baby and for not being able to do the simple task of drinking water on my own. A few moments pass and I feel marginally better so I sit up all the way and let my head fall back against the top of the couch.

            "Better?"

            I nod again.  "Yeah, thanks."

            He nods in return and stutters stares down at the worn fabric on the sofa for a few seconds before saying, "How long…um, when's the last time you ate something?"

            I attempt to glare at him but I'm sure it came out as more of a weak glance instead of the threatening one I had intended. "Truth."

            I sigh and decide it'll get me nowhere lying to him since he always finds out in the end anyway.  "Besides that soup I just had now, six days."

            He tries to stifle the gasp but I catch it anyway and look away from him and his horrified expression.

            "Rog, that's not… You have to eat something, _now_."

            I look at him again and see the look of determination on his face and decide that I'll have to sooner or later and since I'm feeling like such shit currently from not eating, it may as well be now.

            I nod hesitantly and Mark's face lights up as he leads me into the kitchen and helps me pick out something sufficient to eat. I finally settle on half a sandwich (which he insisted wasn't enough but I got my way anyway) and I pick at it for a few moments before giving up and dropping my face in my hands, letting the tears fall for a few moments before facing the poison again. 

Mark tries to make it easier on me by telling me about his conversation with Joanne. I guess he figures it'll take my mind off the food, but it's not like I can even hear him anyway with my heart pounding so loud that I think for a second it's about to beat out of my chest.

            "Roger!"  I snap my head up.  "Have you been listening to a word I've said?"

            I pick at the sandwich some more and take a tiny bite, wincing as I swallow and feel it go down my throat.

            He sighs.  "Joanne just told me that she talked to the hospital and got some numbers of clinics that would be willing to give us free health insurance, meaning free AZT!"

            I try to muster up some emotion…try to feel happy…but all I can think about is how there's almost a whole sandwich sitting right here in front of me that I have to finish. Finally, I do begin to feel something: terror. Panicking, I start to cry, loudly, into my hands again, and Mark shifts his chair closer to me, gently rubbing my back, trying to calm my loud, desperate sobs.

Mark POV:

            Oh my God, I can't believe I'm seeing Roger like this again. I almost want to cry myself when I think of all he must be going through. I try to sooth his shaking body and ease his sobs and finally, after about fifteen minutes, he calms down a little and I slip my free hand into his.

            "C'mon Rog, just a little bit more and then you can stop and you'll feel a lot better, you won't feel sick anymore. Please, just a few more bites."

            He looks up at me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen and then looks down in defeat at what I'm sure is the most terrifying thing in the world to him right now, his sandwich.

            "It's okay Roger, just a few bites, okay?"

            He nods a bit and I continue to rub his back as he slowly picks up the sandwich and nibbles on it for what seems like forever until there's only a little bit left.

            "No more Mark, I can't…I'm done now."

            I nod, even though I really would like to see him finish the small half a sandwich he took. 

            "Okay Roger, that's fine." I sigh a little, trying to hide my disappointment, and trying to look happy at the fact that my best friend just ate for the first time in six days. I can feel him shaking under my touch and I tighten my grip on him, trying to calm his quivering body.  "Relax, just breathe. You're going to be fine."

Roger POV:

            I hate this feeling, I would do anything in the world to make it go away…but at the same time I know I deserve it. Apparently though, Mark doesn't seem to agree with that theory because he's wrapping his arms around me tightly, trying to get my shaking to stop. I try to shake him off a few times because I know I don't deserve the kindness he's treating me with and it makes me feel guilty, but he doesn't give up and after a few minutes I calm down marginally and I relax into his embrace.

            Feeling the weight of my body ease, he looks at me wearing an expression of concern mixed with a splash of disappointment…disappointed in me.

            "Are you feeling any better?"

            I nod because I feel at least physically better now anyway.

            "Good. You never did answer my question before Roger, when did all this start again? What happened?"

            I sigh and stare at my almost empty plate uncomfortably.  "Maybe a month ago, I guess. When you were in the hospital."

            I'm hit with a stab of guilt as I see the look of hurt and guilt flash across Mark's face. That look makes me want to go back in time and erase those words. I wish they'd never come out of my mouth.

            "No Mark, I mean…it was just because of the privacy…"  I'm lying out of my ass but at least he looks like he believes it.

            "There was no one to watch me eat and it was just too easy, too tempting. That's all it was." God, what bullshit. I would've been fine eating on my own, I've done it before. It wasn't the lack of supervision at all but there's no way I'm telling Mark what it really was because I know he would think it was his fault and blame himself again.

He looks at me skeptically.  "Then why did you stop therapy?"

            Shit. "I just…I didn't want her prying."

            "Prying into what?"

            I shrug helplessly. "My life? I don't know, I just didn't want her finding out, I guess." And because I was so selfish for going to her in the first place that you didn't take your AZT and wound up in the hospital because of me…but you don't need to know that.

            "Okay, well I scheduled you for appointments again starting in two weeks. But until then you're not leaving my sight, I'm going to make sure you eat."

            I sigh and roll my eyes.  "Yeah, whatever Mommy."

            "I'm serious Roger! I'm not going to let you get as bad as you did a few months ago! I could have stopped you if I had done something sooner and now I have that chance again. I'm not just going to stand my and watch you kill yourself this time."

            I sigh again, and agree to this little plan of his, knowing full well that he technically can't _make_ me eat. He can try, but I'm not eating any more than I have to…which is any more than I need to stay alive.

Mark POV:

            "I'm going to rehearsal, see ya," Roger says as he picks up his guitar case and heads out the door. I sigh and get up, blocking his entrance to the front door. He's tried this trick every day for the past two weeks and it's not working, I honestly don't know why he hasn't given up by now.

            "Roger, you're not going anywhere."  I push him into a kitchen chair and I pretend not to notice him squirm with anxiety, or the fact that his breathing is becoming much more labored as I make him a small salad for lunch. Hardly a lunch, more like a side dish or something you would give to a three year old to go along with their dinner. But he's grown so skinny and his body has gotten so used to not having food in it that anything more than this hurts his stomach extremely, it just can't take more than a few milligrams of food at a time.

            As I place the child sized portion in front of him I try not to stare at his gaunt face, and the cheekbones jutting out from under his flesh. It's so hard not to though, he looks like a walking corpse, no exaggeration.

            I honestly have no idea how he's still losing weight because I pretty much never let him out of my sight except for when he's in the bathroom or in his room. But that's never around meal times so I know he's not purging or anything. 

For the past two weeks I've made him eat at every meal and I watch him to make sure that he actually does eat and then sit with him for an hour after that to make sure he doesn't throw up. And despite all that, he's still losing weight, still getting weaker and weaker by the day. His stomach has gotten so small that he can't eat more than about a half a sandwich or a bowl of soup a day without it causing him extreme pain. And I know because I've actually had to sit with him when he was going through that. Once I stupidly offered him my hand to squeeze and, though he must have weighed a good 20 pounds less than me at the time, he almost broke it.

            I watch Roger nibble at his salad, taking a sip of tea after every bite. That's strange…maybe some new OCD thing he picked up. I'd have to mention that to Dr. Gomez the next time I saw her. Which supposedly will be in another month. But I'm not sure since she keeps rescheduling the start of Roger's appointments. She says she's "busy, all booked up." Well, that's great for her but what am I supposed to do in the meantime with a best friend that's starving himself to death right under my nose? And what about Roger? The poor thing can't make it through the day without having at least one panic attack, and that's on a good day. He's terrified of doing the one thing that will keep him alive, and he's dying.

            I stand up to get myself something to eat and as I do I notice Roger spit something out into his cup. I don't say anything at first, praying that maybe I'm just seeing things, but he does it again, and again, and again…

            Finally it all makes sense now. Of course he's still losing weight, he's not fucking eating a thing I give him! Dammit, I'm so stupid sometimes… Why the hell didn't I realize this sooner?

            I sit down again and snatch Roger's glass away from him angrily.

            "Roger! What do you think you're doing?"

Roger POV:

            I pick at my salad uncomfortably, watching Mark stare at me with those intense blue eyes digging into me, making silent accusations…_I know what you're up to, I know what you do with your food…You're not fooling anyone…_

            I keep reminding myself that I'm just being stupid, the guilt is just getting to me. Of course he doesn't know what I've been doing. If he did he would have said something by now.

            I hate doing it to him, tricking him like that when I know all he wants to do is help me and make sure I don't starve myself to death. But I can't help it, I can't eat, I _can't_. It is physically impossible for me to put food in my mouth, chew, and swallow. I can't help think that I'm even worse now than I was a few months back. Because at least then I could eat _something_ sometimes. Not a lot, but enough to keep me going. At least I was actually capable of it back then. But now…now I just can't bring myself to do it. I can't put _anything_ in my mouth now, not food, not water, not even AZT…nothing.

            That started last week when Mark had another pretty bad coughing fit and when I went to get him some water I was reminded of how the entire thing started in the first place: me. And then after that I couldn't even drink water anymore because every time I tried to the voices would take over my head again, telling me that I didn't deserve even that. Water would keep me alive and I deserved to die. I can't make them go away. The voices. I want to tell them to go and fuck themselves but they take over my whole head, blocking out anything and everything except for their cruel whispers and taunts and won't go away until I give in to them, do what they tell me to do…or what not to do. And in this case it's eat and drink and take AZT and well, basically anything that will keep me alive. 

Suddenly I realize how crazy my thoughts must sound right now. I'm thinking about little voices taking over my mind, telling me to do things, making me starve and dehydrate myself to death. _Shit Davis, you really are fucked up._

            Suddenly, Mark startles me by grabbing my cup out of my hands and slamming it down on the table.

            "Roger! What do you think you're doing?"

            I'm shocked, I can't understand why he would be yelling at me like he is right now. What the hell did I do this time?

            "What are you talking about, Mark?"

            "You know damn well what I'm talking about!" He motions to the cup in front of him.  "You haven't been eating! You've been tricking me this whole time!"

            Oh shit, I hadn't even realized I was doing that again. It's become so second nature to me by now that I don't even realize when I'm doing it anymore.

            I stutter, trying to think of an excuse but there are none. What excuse is there when you're caught spitting every bite of food that enters your mouth into a cup? None. I look at him helplessly, without an excuse, hoping he'll take pity on me and understand why I had to do it.

            But, of course, I have no such luck and he starts yelling at me again.

            "Roger, answer me! Why won't you just eat?"

            Oh, that was harsh. Even if that wasn't the intent of his words, they hit me hard. "_Won't _eat? _Won't_?! Do you think I'm just…just doing this to spite you or something? Or do you just think it's my idea of fun to literally not be able to put a single bite of food in my mouth? Well dammit, it's _not_ fun when you're so terrified of food that you can't even look at it or smell it without having a near heart attack! I thought you knew that Mark, I thought you understood! But I guess I thought wrong, you really _don't_ understand, you're just like everyone else!"

            I stand up and slam my chair into the table, tipping over the glass of water, and storm angrily to my room, not even glancing back as Mark runs after me and stops me before I can escape to my room, wrapping his arms around me in an embrace.

            "I'm sorry Roger… I do know, I _do_ understand. I'm sorry for yelling, for saying that but I was just…just worried… Roger, I just don't want to see you hurt yourself!" His voice cracks a little and I can tell that he's obviously holding back tears.

            I can't help the small whimper that escapes my throat.  "I'm not doing it on purpose. I'm not, I swear…" 

_I want to get better, I want you to help me._

 I can't quite get my mouth to form those words though.

            He pulls me closer to him and my ribs hurt from being pressed up so tight against him. It's almost like he expects me to die any minute. On second thought, he probably does.

            I can't take this, the guilt is getting to me again and I just have to escape. I push him away from me and give him what I hope is an apologetic look.

            "I'm sorry Mark, I just need to be alone, okay?"

            He looks down at the floor and nods his head sadly.  "Please Roger, please come to me if you need anything…"

            I nod, even though I know I won't. I need food, I need water, I need my AZT, I need my best friend, I need to know that he'll always be there for me, I need comfort and support, I need a hug, I need help… But all these thing I can't have because I'm too selfish, or so the voices tell me. So instead of telling him all of these things that I need so desperately, I listen to the tantalizing screaming in my head and push him away, closing the door behind me…closing out the one person in my life who can truly save me.


	4. Moral Dilemma

Roger POV:

            I sit on my bed nervously, my hands shaking in my lap as I try to give myself a mental pep talk. For four days now I haven't been able to eat, drink, or take my AZT. I feel like shit, I've been blacking out, I have zero energy left, and the voices are consuming my mind, relentless now in their taunting and scolding.

            Yesterday, for the first time since I relapsed, I got the nerve to weigh myself. I now weigh 127 pounds…that's 25 pounds less that Mark, a man half my size! I keep trying to tell myself that it's just because I haven't had anything to eat or drink in almost a week, but someplace in the back of my mind, beneath the voices that haunt me constantly now, there's a part of me that knows that's not true and that I need to ask for help and fast.

            That's why for the past two days I've been debating whether or not to tell Mark what's going on. Everything…the food, the water, the AZT, the voices…all of it. I finally made my decision last night after I passed out from dehydration. Mark thought it was from lack of food. He doesn't know that I now not only have an inability to eat but an inability to drink as well. But I know if I don't do it soon I'll die, no questions asked.

            Which is why I'm sitting here, shaking on my bed now, a nervous wreck, trying to come up with the best way to tell Mark what's happening to me.

            _Come on, you can do this,_ I think to myself.

            "Mark, I need help."  Sounds too needy.

            "I have a problem, Mark."  Well that's obvious.

            "Mark, I have a problem and need help."

            "What is it, Roger? What's wrong?"

            I jump, startled, and spin around, seeing Mark standing in my doorway looking concerned. Shit, I hadn't meant for him to have heard that. But I guess I might as well use this situation to my advantage, there's no turning back now.

            I gulp and the dryness in my throat helps me know that I'm making the right decision.

            "Alright, um…I…I can't…" But at the last minute I chicken out and lose my nerve, staring at the floor as Mark comes all the way into my room and sits on my bed next to me.

            "What is it Roger?" he asks softly. "What's going on?"

            In one sudden and brave moment I decide to just blurt it all out without thinking, because I know if I think about it I'll never be able to do it.

            "Mark, I need your help because I haven't had anything to eat or drink in four days and I know I won't be able to any time soon."

            He gasps and tries to keep the look of shock from registering on his face as he says with forced calmness, "Roger, you don't drink anymore?"

            I shake my head quickly. "No. Not don't. Can't. I _can't_ drink anymore. And um…" Just do it, Roger, what's the worst that could happen?  "…I can't take my AZT," I mumble.

            _"What??"_

            "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I knew I shouldn't have told you…"  
            He immediately takes on an apologetic tone. "No Roger, it's a good thing you told me. Very good. But, um… I don't understand. How come you can't drink or take your medicine anymore?"

            Take deep breaths. Deep cleansing breaths. Don't let your heart speed out of control…you'll be fine…

            "I um…I don't know. But I just can't, or…or…" Or what's happening to me right now will happen.

            Mark's been through so many of these with me that by now he knows exactly what to do. He lays me down gently on my bed and tucks my threadbare blanket across my chest, then runs into his own room and returns with his own blanket, laying that on top of as well. Then he slips his hand into mine and tries to hold my body still as he looks into my eyes and tries to pull me back towards reality.

            "That's it Roger, you're doing just great. Just concentrate on me, okay? Nothing bad will happen, I promise…just calm down and everything will be fine."

            Finally, I can feel my breathing start to regulate and my racing heart slows down as I focus on Mark's eyes and let them pull me back to reality.

            He breathes a sigh of relief.  "Are you okay?"

            I nod but we both know I'm lying.

Mark POV:

            I stare a few seconds at the sheets on Roger's bed, putting off for as long as possible what I know has to be said. Finally, I take a deep breath and brace myself for the argument I know is coming.

            "Rog, I know how hard it is for you to eat…and drink and take your AZT…and I know that you can't do it on your own. So maybe, um…maybe the best thing for you to do is to go to the hospital and, you know, just stay there until your health isn't in danger anymore… Just until you get your weight up to a safe level."

            His eyes tear up and he blinks angrily, refusing to look at me.

            "I'm too much of a burden for you so you decide to dump me in the hospital so you can forget about me for a while?"

            "No! Total opposite! I care about you _so much_ Roger and I would die if anything happened to you! I know you're incapable of eating – and drinking, apparently – and I know you can't do it on your own. But if you went to the hospital they could feed you, keep you alive on IV's for a while until you _can_ do it on your own. I just don't want to see you die, Roger. You're not a burden and I'm not trying to get rid of you. I just want to make sure you live to see your 27th birthday."  I rub his arm and look down at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

            "No, wait, if I ate something right now would you still put me in the hospital?"

            I pause.  "It's not a punishment Rog, I just want to see you get better. But, I guess if you could start to eat again you wouldn't need to go…"

            He stares at the scratched wood surface of the floor for a few seconds, thinking about this. Finally he says, "Okay, I will."

            He throws off the two blankets that were covering him and gets out of bed. He stands shakily for a few seconds, apparently trying to regain his balance, and takes a few unsteady steps to the door. But just before he reaches it, his legs buckle and he collapses in a heap on the floor.

            A thousand knives stab at my heart when I see this, his legs aren't even strong enough to support him anymore. I quickly brush away the tears forming in my eyes and rush to his side, helping him back to his bed.

            "Here Rog, why don't you just stay here and I'll bring you back something instead, okay?"

            He nods and I go into the kitchen, trying to pick out the best meal for Roger. Something that won't freak him out and something sufficient enough to keep him going, but also something that his shrunken stomach can handle. Finally, I decide on a few saltine crackers and a tall glass of water, this time in a clear cup so I can make sure that he's actually eating.

Roger POV:

            By the time Mark comes back, I've already worked myself into a mini panic attack.  He sits next to me and puts an arm around me, holding me close to him so I won't shake out of control, and raises a cracker to my lips.

            I try to twist my head away from the food but he just grabs it with his free hand and holds it still as he brings the cracker to my mouth again and forces a tiny piece in, then takes a finger and rubs my neck in a downward motion so that I'm forced to swallow automatically.

            "Hey!" I try to protest but when I open my mouth he shoves another tiny piece of the cracker in and before I have the chance to spit it out he does the same thing with my throat, forcing me to swallow.

            He looks at me apologetically and says, "I'm sorry Roger, I just can't let you kill yourself like this."

            He raises the glass of water to my lips and tilts my head back, holding my nose closed until I can't breathe anymore and have no choice but to open my mouth for a gulp of oxygen. But as I do, Mark pours half the water in the glass down my throat and won't let go of my jaw until I swallow.

            As much as I hate this and want to kill him for it, I have to admit that the water tastes like heaven to my parched throat and dry mouth. But my feeling good about it and enjoying it somewhat just makes me feel guilty and awful for indulging myself when I know I don't deserve to feel satisfied…or anything else for that matter.

            "Mark," I try to protest, but since stupid me didn't learn from last time, my protesting doesn't get me anywhere except for getting another cracker shoved in my mouth. Mark's holding me down again, and as much as I struggle to get free, I can't because by now he weighs almost 40 pounds more than me and is a lot stronger.

            "Swallow," he commands as he relaxes his grip just a little. "You know you're going to anyway, one way or another. You can do it on your own, or I'll do it for you again. It's up to you."

            I give him a look that could kill and wince as I swallow on my own and feel the food go down my throat.

            "I hate you," I whisper as my eyes fill with tears. I can't believe Mark would do this to me, I thought he understood…

            He hands me a tissue and sits down next to me.

            "I'm sorry Roger, I really am. But look what you just did. You ate by yourself… Well, you swallowed by yourself…and that's progress isn't it? Before today you couldn't even imagine swallowing food on your own and you just did it. _And _you're not having a panic attack."  He holds up my hand by my wrist and holds it in the air, my palm facing the floor.  "Your hands aren't even shaking."

            I take a deep breath and press my free hand to my chest, trying to feel for a racing heartbeat, but all I can feel is the slow, steady pulse, indicating normalcy and not the sign of someone who is having an anxiety attack. He's right, I realize, but not about to admit that to him I say, "That's because I'm too mad to be having a panic attack!"

            "Prove it," he says as he shoves another cracker in my mouth. "Prove you're too mad at me to eat and get so freaked out that you have a panic attack."

            I glare at him and swallow the food to prove my point, not even realizing that I fell right into his trap.

            "Water?"  He hands me the tall glass and I snatch it from him, gulping the whole thing in under two seconds. I guess I didn't realize how thirsty I actually was.

            I hand the glass back to him and he walks out of my room, returning a moment later with the glass filled again and my AZT bottle.

            He pops the top open and hands me the familiar white pill.  "Will you take this on your own or do I have to hand feed you this too?"  His voice is antagonistic and holds a hint of sarcasm. I don't get that mad though, because I know he doesn't mean it. He always uses this technique with me. He used it when he was trying to get me off smack, when he wanted me to get tested for HIV, and throughout my whole withdrawal. And the sad thing is, I always give in.

            I snatch the pill from his open hand and pop it in my mouth, gulping the entire glass of water down again. I wonder if this is what it's like to go on a binge. But then again, I only had three crackers and two glasses of water so I doubt it.

            The water feels so good, it's like nothing I've ever felt before…I've never felt so satisfied in my life. I know how twisted that must sound but believe me, after going four days without drinking, water is the best thing in the entire world.

            Mark looks at me timidly, like he's almost scared of my reaction.  "Do you feel better?"

            Better? Yeah…I guess in a way I do feel better, but also worse because the voices are taking over again, screaming at me and scolding me for indulging myself like that, for being a pig and drinking the water like that when I don't deserve it at all…when what I deserve is to be starved to death, dehydrated, in every kind of pain known to man…

            "Roger!"  I look up and notice Mark staring down at me again, looking concerned.  "Rog, are you okay?"

            I hesitate for a second, considering telling him what's wrong but in the end I decide against it and just nod.  "I'm fine Mark, don't worry about me. I just want to be alone now, okay?"

            He looks at me skeptically for a while but finally turns to leave. Just as he reaches the door he calls over his shoulder, "And don't even think about purging, I'm locking the bathroom door. Tell me if you need anything."  And then he walks out, closing the door behind him.

Mark POV:

            After leaving Roger's room, I sit on the couch for about an hour, doing nothing but think about this whole dilemma. I know Roger should be in a hospital. He physically can't eat by himself anymore. I literally had to hold him down just now and put each tiny piece of cracker in his mouth and then rub his neck to force him to swallow. And if that wasn't bad enough, now he's telling me he can't even drink or take his AZT! Even when he was anorexic last year, it was never as bad as this. Because at least back then he could eat, if only a little. After just sitting on the couch for about another fifteen minutes, I hear Roger gasping for breath in his room and I rush in to see what's wrong.

            "Roger?"  I push his door open and see him on his bed with his eyes clenched shut and his hands shaking by his sides. Another panic attack. It's scary sometimes how Roger's anxiety attacks can look so much like when he was going through withdrawal.

            I go over to his bedside and whisper in his ear words of encouragement, just like I used to for withdrawal, and after about ten minutes, he opens his eyes again and stares at me like a little lost child.

            "Mark?" he whispers and then starts to cry.

            I sit next to him and hold him as he sobs on my shoulder, apologizing over and over for doing this to himself and to me, saying how he just wants it to end, how he can't take it anymore, etc. until I can't even make out his words anymore and they're just one long sob.

            "Roger," I say after he finally calms down. "You don't have to apologize for this. You're sick, it's not like you can help it. And you know I'm going to help you get over it, just like I did last time. I'll find some way to help you, okay? I promise, I'm not going to let you down."  I sit and hold him for a few more minutes until I'm sure he's completely over his panic attack and when he stops crying, he pushes me away. He's always pushing me away. I wish he would just admit he needs me for once.

            But I do what he says anyway, and walk out the door but only under the condition that he promises to let me know if he needs anything later.

Roger POV:

            The food from an hour ago is finally starting to affect me. I can feel all of it in my stomach now and the goddamn voices _won't leave me alone!!!_ They're telling me to throw up and I know they won't shut up until I do it. I want to do it anyway to get rid of this feeling of satisfaction in my stomach. I guess when you get so used to feeling a certain way, even if it's not right, anything else just feels wrong, not normal. I remember what Mark said about locking the bathroom door, that's the only thing that's stopping me.

            I peek my head out my doorway, looking around for Mark, and when I don't see him, I focus my eyes on the open entrance to the bathroom. _I could do it,_ I think to myself. It would be so easy, relief is right there in front of me! But do I really want to betray Mark's trust like that? At that I have to laugh. Mark doesn't have any trust in me, so technically, there would be none to betray…right?

            I know there's only one right answer and it's becoming steadily more obvious as the seconds tick by, the screaming and taunting and patronizing getting louder with each that go by. Finally, I make my decision and make a run for the bathroom. Mark doesn't know, he doesn't understand about the voices and the way they fill my head, blocking out everything else until I do as they say. If he did, I'm sure he would let me do this…

I desperately try to convince myself of that as I turn on both shower faucets and kneel in front of the toilet and stick my fingers down my throat, the food coming up magically…an art I mastered long ago…

Mark POV:

            I hear Roger run out of his room and I open the door to my room to see what he's up to. A feeling of dread washes over my body as I see the bathroom door closed and hear the gagging above the running water.

            It is then that I make my decision, he can't go on living like this. As I pick up the phone and dial the familiar number, tears form in my eyes as I realize what I'm about to do to my best friend in the world.

            "Hello?"

            "Hi, Joanne. It's me."

            "Mark? What's wrong?"

            "Um…how would I go about getting someone committed?"


	5. My friend at legal aid

A/N: Thanks, Pam, for helping me with this chapter in more ways than you can imagine. I got all the legal info on commitment and everything else from http://www.mentalhealthconsumer.net.

Mark POV:

            I sit on the edge of the couch nervously, checking my watch every other minute. Roger's sound asleep in his room and has no idea what's about to happen. Joanne and Collins should have been here ten minutes ago.

            Finally, I hear Collins' voice from the hallway and a knock at the door. I jump off the couch and let them in, Collins giving me a big hug when he sees me. Joanne embraces me next and asks, "How are you?"

            I shrug. "I'm about to put my best friend in the hospital. How would you be?"

            No one says anything for a moment but then Collins says, "You're saving his life, Mark."

            Joanne nods and then we all sit down at the kitchen table and start going over the legal procedures. "Okay, here's what's going to happen," Joanne says as she takes a bunch of forms out of an expensive-looking briefcase. "If we can't get Roger to go to the hospital willingly, we could either call the police, or an ambulance who would escort him there where he would be held for 48 hours, or until he gets a second certification, which means a doctor would examine him to determine whether or not he is a danger to himself or others and needs the hospital's care. Should that be the case, they would hold him up to one month and after that month is up, they would review his case to see if he needs to stay longer in their care."

            "Wait," I interrupt. "How would he be certified? How does that work?"

            "Certification, or Involuntary Commitment, happens when a doctor or psychiatrist examines him and completes this medical certificate," she says, pushing one of the forms over to us.

            On it are listed four criterion for certification.

1.  You have a mental disorder that seriously impairs your ability to react appropriately to your environment or to associate with others. 

2.  That because of the disorder/illness you need to receive treatment in or through a psychiatric hospital or designated facility. 

3.  That you need care, supervision and control to prevent you getting sicker either mentally or physically, or to protect you from other people or them from you. 

4.  You won't accept treatment or take your medications unless they make you.

After looking it over, I hand the form to Collins, who looks it over quickly and then gives it back to Joanne.

            "Well," I say, "it doesn't look like we'll have any problem getting that second certification."

            Collins' face falls. "Is he really that bad, Mark?"

            I nod sadly. "Yeah. He can't eat or drink or take his AZT anymore. I force fed him last week but he threw it up and I haven't been able to get him to eat or drink since then. He's in really bad shape." My voice cracks and I blink back tears.

            Joanne puts a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll make sure he gets that certification and gets the help he needs."

            I hear Roger's door creak open and he stumbles out, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He tries to walk over to us but doesn't even make it two feet before collapsing on the thinly carpeted floor. I rush over to him and help him over to the couch (he can't sit on the kitchen chairs anymore since he has no fat left at all and the wood hurts him).

            "What's going on?" he asks as he looks at the somber faces on me, Joanne, and Collins.

            We all look at each other and when no one says anything, I sit down next to him and wrap my arms around his frail body, realizing that this may be the last time I hug my best friend.

            "Roger, you know I would never do anything to purposely hurt you or do anything I thought would be bad for you."  I pause. "You can't eat Rog…" I can't hold back my tears anymore and they spill over onto my cheeks.  "You can't eat or drink and there's nothing I or anyone else can do about it here. I hope you don't think I'm giving up on you when I say what I'm about to say. I never gave up on you and I never will. And I'm not doing this because you're a burden either, you're not. Believe me, I want more than anything for you to stay here with me and let _me_ help you but I can't because that would be selfish. Selfish to you because you wouldn't get the help you need. Please don't hate me when I say this…you can be mad, in fact I _know_ you'll be mad, but please don't hate me…"

            "I won't hate you," he interrupts. "You're my best friend, I _couldn't_ hate you."

            I nod, praying to God that he'll remember that after I say this.

            "Okay Rog, the thing is, we think you should be in the hospital," I blurt out and then pull away from him quickly, staring at the other side of the couch, biting my quivering lower lip.

            For a moment he doesn't say anything and I think at first he might be dead, he's sitting so still and his face is so pale.

            "Roger?" I ask timidly.

            "I'm not going to the hospital."  I'm shocked at the calmness of his voice, it's almost like he was expecting this. But then again, he doesn't know what we're going to do if he doesn't agree to go.

            I'm at a loss for words so I look at Joanne helplessly. She's better with this legal stuff anyway.

            "Roger Honey," she begins. "If you don't go willingly, we'll…we'll have no other choice other than to have you committed."

            Instead of the angry reaction I expected, he gets hysterical, breaking down and sobbing into the couch cushion. Just shows how much he's changed over these past few months.

            "Roger," I say softly as I rub his back, trying to calm him down. "It won't be that bad, I promise. We'll all come visit you every day and-"

            "NO!" he screams. "I'm not going to the fucking hospital!"

            It's then that I notice how much more labored his breathing has become and I realize he's having another panic attack.

            I gather him in my arms, as a mother would a crying child, and don't let him struggle free. As I try to ease his desperate choking, I nod over his shoulder at Collins to call for an ambulance.

            "Roger, shh…you have to stop crying, it's just going to make it worse…"  I rub his back soothingly in little circles, trying to aid in his breathing but from the little gasps he takes in between sobs I can tell it's not working.

            I finally get him to stop struggling and now instead he's clutching onto me for dear life. I start crying myself at the intense emotion hanging heavily in the air around the two of us.

            A few minutes later there is loud knocking at the door and Joanne lets in the two paramedics who talk to her for a minute to find out what's going on, and then rush over to me and Roger, tearing him away from my grasp. One of them puts him on a stretcher and gives him an oxygen mask while the other talks to Joanne and me, filling out paper work.

            Finally, they bring Roger down the stairs to the ambulance waiting on the street, with me, Joanne, and Collins following close behind.

            "Are any of you relatives?" the paramedic asks when we ask to go in the ambulance with Roger.

            "No," I respond, pushing him aside. "But I'm as close as you're gonna find."

            They allow me to go with Roger but demand that Collins and Joanne stay behind. The only reason they let me go is because Roger begged them and started sobbing again when they took him away, which only made his panic attack worse, making it even harder for him to breathe than it already was.

            As the ambulance speeds away, Roger still sobbing and clutching onto my hand, I turn briefly and look out the window, my eyes transfixed on the image of Collins and Joanne, holding each other, getting smaller and smaller as we get closer and closer to the hospital.


	6. These Feelings

A/N: Ok, I have a lot of things to say and this is gonna be kind of long but just bear with me. First of all, I just want to say that I'm not at all happy with the way this chapter came out and that I will most likely change it. And second, up until now this story has not been M/R, I didn't even plan on doing it but it's going to turn into that in this chapter. I know a lot of people who are reading this now don't like to read slash and I'm sorry for turning it into that, I hope you still continue to read anyway. There's also something else that's been upsetting me and I'd like to clear that up here. I'd like to say, in response to some of the reviews I've been getting lately, that as far as my medical knowledge goes, I'm far from a genius. I know basically nothing. But when it comes to eating disorders, phobias, and OCD, there's a lot there that I _do_ know because so many people in my life, including me, have been affected with them. So when you insist that it's unrealistic to go 8 days without drinking and tell me my knowledge on this is poor…well, it just makes me angry because after 5 years of dealing with similar issues myself, my knowledge is anything but poor. And the sad truth of it is that it _is_ realistic to go for 8 days without drinking. As for the other medical things in my story, like Mark's PCP, you'd be right to say I know absolutely nothing about the subject. But I try really hard to make my stories as realistic as possible and I spend more time than I should online doing research on things I want to include in my story but know nothing, or very little, about. I'm not a doctor, ok? I'm a 16 year old junior in high school so you can't expect every medical fact I put in my story to be perfect or 100% correct. So I don't mind if you leave a review telling me I got something wrong, or that I got my facts mixed up. In fact, I'd like that so I could go back and change it to make my story more realistic. But don't tell me that my medical knowledge is downright poor. Because even though it may not seem like it, I really do put a lot of time and effort into researching and trying to get things as realistic as possible. I'm sorry about this long author's note, it's just something that's been bothering me and I really had to get it off my chest. And now, on to the story!

Mark POV:

            Once we get to the hospital, the nurse at the desk refuses to admit Roger unless one of us fills out the first certification paper and a doctor reviews it. So for the next half hour, Roger sits next to me in the waiting room, still freaking out, while I fill out the forms and try to calm him down at the same time…which, believe me, is not an easy task.

            I finally finish and hand the papers to the nurse, who promises to get a doctor to look them over as soon as she can. Now I can focus my full attention on Roger, who's still having a panic attack and having trouble breathing. And his sobbing isn't making things any better. I'm fucking pissed at the hospital staff, you'd think they could do _something_ for Roger, anything to make this any easier on him, or even just a fucking oxygen mask so he wouldn't have to fight for every quick, labored breath.

            As I sit here with Roger going crazy next to me, I think back to two years ago, before anorexia, before phobias, before OCD, before all of this. The man sitting next to me right now is not the Roger I used to know back then. That Roger never cried at anything, wouldn't ever admit when he was scared or that he couldn't do something. He never got upset, just angry. Though I knew he _did_ get upset, just covered it up with the anger. This Roger, the 127 lb., emaciated figure sitting next to me, can't even make it through one day…ONE DAY…without breaking down, crying, or having a panic attack. He doesn't play his guitar anymore, or go out with his friends or the band…hell, he can't even walk from one room to the other! He doesn't talk with me anymore like he used to, we never just hang out and laugh. And the sad thing is I know he doesn't even have the energy to. This isn't Roger. This isn't even a person. This is a walking corpse, the shell of a man who used to be my best friend, who used to have so much going for him. And now…now he can't even put food in his mouth, chew, and swallow.

            I sigh as I rub his back, trying to get him to stop crying so he can breathe a little easier. All I want is for Roger to get better, I just want my friend back. Is that such an unreasonable wish? Is it so unreasonable for me to want Roger to be able to eat again, and drink, and take his AZT?

            "Mr. Cohen?" My thoughts are interrupted by the receptionist calling my name.

            I get up and walk closer to her so I can hear her over Roger's cries.  "Yes?"

            "Our visiting psychiatrist just reviewed Roger Davis' case and he signed the second certification paper. So we'll be moving him up to the eating disorder ward now where'll he'll stay for at least a month, unless he makes significant progress and his doctors feel he is ready to go home."

            I smile and nod. "Are they going to be putting him on any IV's or anything?"

            "I wouldn't be the one to know that. You'll have to discuss that with his doctors."

            I nod again and go back over to Roger, deciding against telling him the news, for fear it might kill him if he cries any harder than he is right now.

            Fifteen minutes later, a man in a white coat comes out of the big double doors, marking the hospital's entrance. He stops at the front desk for a moment and talks to the nurse and then heads over to me and Roger, outstretching his hand.

            "Hello, I'm Dr. Greene and I'll be in charge of Roger Davis' case."

            I shake his hand and motion to Roger, huddled up against my side, on the cool bench in the waiting room. "Is there something you can do for him now? He's having a panic attack and he can't really breathe…"

            Dr. Greene frowns and then walks away, returning a few seconds later with a wheelchair and a needle. He sedates Roger and when he finally calms down and falls asleep, Dr. Greene wheels him away, telling me Roger will be in surgery and I won't be able to see him until the next day. But I beg him to let me stay, just this one night so Roger won't wake up in an unfamiliar place all alone, and after a reminder of Roger's earlier panic attack at the mere thought of coming to the hospital, he hesitantly agrees. So they set up a cot for me in Roger's room on the eating disorders ward but make me wait in the waiting room until he comes out of surgery.

Roger POV:

            I feel groggy and get the sense that I'm not in the loft anymore. For one thing, whatever I'm lying on now is a hell of a lot softer than anything me or Mark ever owned, and for another, this place has a strange, sterile smell that the loft certainly never had.

            I try to open my eyes and sit up but feel a pulling sensation in my throat and lie back down quickly. Suddenly, I'm aware of Mark's presence and I open my eyes fully now to see him standing over me in a large, white room that I've never seen before.

            "Roger? How do you feel?"

            "Mmm…Mark? Where are we?"

            He gulps and looks at me with a guilty look on his face. "We're in the hospital."

            "We're in the…?" And then it suddenly all comes back to me and I remember how Mark and Joanne got me committed. It's their fault I'm in this awful place. I want to yell and tell him exactly what's on my mind right now but one look at his hurt and guilty face stops me. 

I sigh. I'm pissed at him but the yelling and screaming could wait. He obviously feels pretty bad about it and, to tell you the truth, I'm kind of glad to have him here right now instead of being alone in this prison. So I swallow my anger and he tells me everything that happened while I've been out. Turns out they put me on two IV's, one in each of my wrists, and gave me a tube in my throat until I can learn to eat on my own. And actually, I'm pretty grateful for that. That means I don't have to eat and I can still stay alive. 

We chat for a few more minutes and then Joanne, Collins, and Maureen come and stay for a while. I'm grateful when they leave though, because I'm exhausted and I want nothing more than to curl up and sleep right now. I could deal with the world when I woke up, right now I just want to lose myself in my world of dreams and unreality.

Mark POV:

            It's been five days since Roger's been put in the hospital. After that first night, they made me leave, but I still go and visit him every day, despite the face that he hasn't said a word to me since that first day. That's where I am now, in the hospital cafeteria, where I've been eating most of my meals lately since I'm always here visiting Roger.

            After I finish my not-so-wonderful-stale chicken sandwich, I head over to the eating disorder ward to go to Roger's room again, hoping that maybe he'll talk to me this time.

            As I walk down the hall, I can't help staring at the various people I pass. Most of them are young girls, they can't be much older than 18, and every one of them is stick thin and emaciated like Roger. It's scary when you think about how many people are doing this to themselves, but to actually see it is something else altogether. Damn, I hate this disease. 

            Finally, I reach Roger's room and poke my head in to see him pushing the food around on his plate from the lunch that was given to him an hour ago. I walk in all the way and look at the food, untouched, on his plate.

            "You didn't eat anything, Rog?" I ask, not really expecting a response.

            "This food is shit. I don't see how they expect me to get better and start eating when they give me food like this to eat."

            I'm shocked that he actually answered me but try not to let the surprise register on my face. "Oh, so I see you've decided to talk to me again."

            He doesn't say anything for a while, just stares down at his plate and rearranges the food with his fork. After a few minutes he says, "Thanks, um…you know, for coming with me in the ambulance and everything and for coming to see me every day. You don't have to do that, you know."

            I nod, glad to see that Roger seems to have forgiven me for putting him here. "I know I don't. But I want to. You're my best friend, and besides, it gets pretty boring sitting around by myself all day in the loft," I joke.

            He smiles slightly. "If you're so lonely why don't you let me come home then?"

            I stare at the sterile white sheets on his bed. I want him to come home more than anything and he knows it. But he has to get better first, or at least learn to eat by himself without IV's and tubes to keep him alive.

            "You know Rog, you could come home a lot faster if you ate..."

            He doesn't say anything and resumes arranging the food on his plate in color order. I take the fork away from him and give him a look. "Don't do that."

            He glares at me but doesn't say anything.

            "How come you're still not eating, Roger?"

            He sighs and looks up at me in frustration.

            "I can't. You know that."  
            I take a carrot from his plate, break a tiny piece off and shove it in his mouth, forcing him to swallow like I did with the crackers that day. "There, see? You _can eat. You just won't because it's too scary."_

            "Exactly! It's too scary, you don't understand. I just can't do it, I can't get better." He looks at me sadly and I realize he actually believes this is true.

            "Roger...yes you can. You got better last time, you can do it this time too."

            He shakes his head sadly. "No, last time was different..."

            "How? How was it different?"

            He looks at me for a second and I can see the emotions battling on his face. I can tell he's trying to decide whether or not he wants to tell me something. Finally, he looks up at me again in defeat and whispers something I can't quite make out.

            I sit down next to him on the bed. "What? I couldn't hear you, Rog."

            "I said, the voices are worse this time."

            I look at him in confusion. "What voices?" I ask, almost afraid of the answer.

            After a long while, he says softly, "Just...just, if I tell you, promise you won't think I'm crazy, okay?" I nod. He takes a deep breath and says, "Okay. Well, one of the reasons it's so hard for me to eat or drink is because whenever I do, or even try, there's these...voices, they just take over my mind..."

            I try to keep my voice steady as I say, "What do they say, Roger?"

            He shakes his head and stares down at his sheets, looking embarrassed. I put my arm around him to try and make this easier for him.

            "They just tell me I'm an awful, bad person, and that I don't deserve food or water or anything and that all I deserve is punishment and pain because that's what I've been giving everyone else my whole life. And they tell me not to eat or drink because I'm too selfish and the only way I can get them to go away is if I do what they tell me to do. If I don't, I just go crazy. That's why I can't eat or drink at all anymore. Last time I could a little because the voices weren't so bad but they're so much worse this time, they're always there and if I _do eat or drink something when they're telling me not to, I go crazy, I have a panic attack. You know, you've seem that."_

            I nod and try to blink back tears. I can't believe Roger never told me this before, he just let himself suffer in silence. I had no idea that was going on, I should have realized... I should have asked...

            He's looking at me, terrified, like he's almost afraid I'm going to hate him now or think he's crazy or something. That's when I realize I still haven't said anything this whole time... Shit, he probably thinks I _do think he's crazy. I wrap my arms around him comfortingly, letting him know that I don't hate him or think he's crazy because of what he just told me, and that I still care about him and think of him the same way I always did._

            "It'll be okay Roger, I promise. Things are going to get better, _you're going to get better, you'll see. I promise I won't let you down."_

            I feel him relax in my arms, obviously relieved that I still care about him despite what he told me. I pat him on the back, reassuringly, and then pull away, giving his fork back to him.

            "Do you think you could eat just a little, if I helped you? It would help you come back to the loft sooner..."

            "I already ate today, it would-"

            "Don't lie to me Roger. I talked to your doctor this morning and he told me you haven't eaten a thing since you've been here. Come on, just a few bites, okay? You don't have to eat the whole thing. Just build up to it slowly."

            He sighs dejectedly and grabs the fork from my outstretched hand and I'm overcome with joy. Roger's trying to eat again! For the first time since this whole thing started, I know I made the right decision in sending him here.

            He breaks up his sandwich into tiny pieces and pierces one with the fork and brings it to his lips with a shaking hand. But, just as he opens his mouth, he drops it again and looks at me in pure panic and terror. For the millionth time in these past two years I think about how most people with phobias have a fear of heights or closed spaces or something. Most people just can't fly in an airplane, or go in an elevator and they'll be fine...but Roger has to have a fear of eating. Something that everyone has to do every single day, at least three times a day. As I think of all the and torture and pain Roger must be going through right now, I wrap my arms around him and take the fork from his shaking hand and raise it to his lips for him, managing to get the tiny piece of bread in his mouth. But this time I don't force him to swallow it, I wait to see if he can do it on his own first.

            "C'mon Rog, all you have to do is swallow. Don't worry, nothing bad will happen. You deserve it, you're a good person and you deserve to eat. You deserve a lot more...just don't think about it, okay? All you have to do is swallow it."

            He closes his eyes and I can see him wince and then start to shake and I know he swallowed it.

            It goes on like this for another hour until there is just a little under half a sandwich and all his vegetables and dessert still left. He pushes the plate away and looks at me pleadingly. "I can't eat anymore Mark, I can't. It's too much, I can't eat another bite."

            I look at the expression on his face and decide he's telling the truth. His stomach is so shrunken, I'm sure it can't handle any more than the small amount of food he just ate. So I nod and put the fork down, telling him he did a great job and doesn't have to eat anymore if he doesn't want to or doesn't physically feel like he can.

My arms are still around him, hugging him like I did throughout the entire meal to let him know he was safe and taken care of, and I can feel him begin to shake in my embrace. I hold him tighter, knowing from experience what's about to come.

            Soon after, icy tears begin to creep down his face and he starts to sweat and breathe hard like he does every time after he eats. I hold him for a while, helping him through his panic attack and surprisingly, this one isn't so bad and ends within 15 minutes, with him falling asleep in my arms. I know I don't have to hold onto him, hug him anymore, but his body is so warm and I can't help but lose myself in the warmth and comfort radiating off his sleeping body. I inhale deeply, feeling relaxed and content. I haven't felt this way in such a long time...felt so peaceful and at ease and just...right, for lack of a better word. Like I can forget about all the problems in the world and just let myself be happy. In fact, I can only remember a few times in my life when I've felt like this, though never to this extent, but I can't place when or why.

            I listen to the sound of Roger's deep, even breathing for a few minutes, just letting myself get lost in the perfection of this moment, and before long, I feel tiredness tugging at my own eyelids and I slide down and rest my head on Roger's pillow, letting myself fall asleep as well.

            I wake up about 15 minutes later feeling the same way as I did before. Out of instinct, I lean over to kiss the person next to me...that's when I realize what this feeling is and when I've felt it before...Maureen. Oh my God.

            I jump out of Roger's bed as fast as I can and try to piece together my racing thoughts. Okay, so I just had the same feelings for my best friend - my male best friend - as I did for the woman I've loved and worshipped for five years now. But not even that, better! Or...worse.

Oh my God, this is so fucked up! Mark, what the hell are you thinking? Don't even waste your time pondering this, you're straight. You always have been, never even thought of the prospect of being with another man in your life. Not that that's a bad thing, I don't have a problem with being gay, or, no! I don't have a problem with _other people being gay...but I'm not...then why am I still thinking about it?_

            I hear Roger start to stir and I back away from his bed, not wanting him to catch me staring at him. I rush out of his room and walk back in, timing it so that I'm coming in just as he wakes up so that it'll look like I'm just coming back now.

            "Hey Roger. How do you feel?"

            He sits up in bed and yawns, messing up his bleached blonde hair.

            "I'm in the hospital. How would you feel?"

            Ouch. Okay, I guess he's gone back to being mad at me.

            He takes on an apologetic tone immediately and says, "Sorry. I'm just...well, you know how I get...after eating."

            I smile slightly and nod. "Yeah, I know. Don't worry about it."

            For a few seconds I don't say anything and just stand there in awkward silence, still shocked and trying to piece together and figure out my feelings from a few minutes ago. But thankfully, Dr. Greene walks in the room so I'm spared the awkwardness of this uncomfortable moment.

            "Hello Roger. I just came by to check how you're doing on your lunch." He inspects the plate and looks up at Roger, the surprise evident on his face. "You ate lunch?"

            Roger nods and looks down, looking ashamed though I have no idea why.

            Dr. Greene nods and looks a little suspicious. I really can't blame him, I would find it hard to believe myself if I hadn't actually witnessed it.

            He jots something down on the paper in the clipboard he's holding in his hands, which I assume is Roger's charts, and starts asking Roger a bunch of questions.

            "How come you were able to eat lunch today, Roger? What was different than all the other days?"

            Roger looks embarrassed and frustrated but he answers anyway. "I just... I don't know, he helped me," he says motioning to me.

            The doctor scribbles this down and looks at me for a second before focusing his attention on Roger once again.

            "Did you have the impulse to purge or do any other sort of obsessive compulsive behaviors?"

            Roger glares at him angrily. "Why does it matter? I ate! That's all that matters!"

            Dr. Greene looks at him apologetically and says, "I'm sorry Roger, but I have to ask you these questions. All the anorexics get asked the same questions, more or less, when they first come in and start eating."

            Roger sighs and answers with a tinge of annoyance in his voice. "Yeah, I had the impulse to puke and do 'obsessive compulsive behaviors' but I didn't, okay?"

            I glare at Roger and mouth the words "Be nice."

            Unfazed, the doctor continues. "Any anxiety attacks?"

            Roger stares down at the floor again and mutters, "Yeah."

            Dr. Greene nods and looks at me for confirmation on all these things. I just nod and the doctor looks at Roger again and smiles.

            "I'm very glad to hear that you're eating, Roger. If you keep that up we'll get these tubes out of you in no time. Considering you start drinking soon also."

            I look at Roger in shock. "Roger, you haven't drunk either? In five days?"

            He shrugs helplessly and motions to the tube in his left wrist. "This makes me less thirsty...and besides, I don't really _have to drink as long as I have that..."_

            I shake my head and look at him, disappointed. "Rooogeeer."

            "Yeah, I know, I know." He looks at the doctor, still standing by the end of his bed and says, "Okay, you can leave now."

            Dr. Greene nods at him and says "Keep up the good work," before walking out of the room.

            I give Roger a look. "Roger, behave!"

            He doesn't say anything so I continue. "You know, just because you have an IV that supplies you with all the liquid you need doesn't mean you can't drink. You're going to have to do it on your own sooner or later...unless you plan on being hooked up to an IV forever."

            "Alright, I get your point. It's just too much too soon, okay? I ate, give me a break."

            "You ate less than half a sandwich. Which, might I add, is the only thing you've eaten all week. You must be thirsty, Rog."

            "So what if I'm thirsty? That's not how it works. I can't drink just because I'm thirsty."

            "Well, the sooner you _do_ learn to drink when you're thirsty, the sooner you'll get out of here."

            He doesn't say anything for a few minutes but then finally looks up at me again and says, "I'll just have another panic attack. Do you want to have to deal with that again?"

            I pause and then nod quickly. "If it means you'll drink something, yes. Whatever happens I'll help you get through it. Haven't I always?"

            He nods hesitantly. He doesn't say anything for a long time and I can see the emotions shifting on his face and when I see his body tense up and that scared look in his eye, I know he made his decision and I know what that decision is.

            I run out of his room before he has a chance to change his mind, and return a few minutes later with a styrofoam cup filled with water, since no glass is allowed on this unit.

            I hold the cup out to him but he just sits there, unmoving, like he's dead and makes no attempt to take the cup from my hands. I sigh and sit down next to him, not wanting to do this after what just happened to me before, but knowing I have to do it, for Roger and his recovery. I hesitantly slip my arms around him and hold the cup up to his lips, trying to control the emotions and sensations that are racing through me.

            I try to tell myself that this is sick. Roger is sick and needs to be taken care of and helped, but all I can think about is my sudden, out of the blue, feelings for him.

            Suddenly I feel my hand being pushed away from Roger's mouth and I notice the tears that are beginning to slide down his cheeks. I hold him tighter, telling myself it's only to calm Roger down, and brush his tears away with my hand. When he resumes some control over his tears and the little whimpers that are escaping his mouth stop, I bring the cup to his lips again and this time he takes a tiny sip.

            "Better?" I ask quietly, trying not to let the tension show in my voice.

            He shakes his head and I hug him again, shoving aside my own feelings for now so I can help Roger through this.

            "You'll feel better soon, I promise. You'll feel better with some water in your body, you must be so thirsty…"

            Again, I can't help but think of the unimaginable terror someone must feel to be able to go for days on end without eating or drinking a thing. I rub his back and take his hand in mine to let him know that I understand and will help him through this, that I'm here for him.

            I try to get him to drink on his own this time but he doesn't – or can't – so I bring the cup to his mouth for him, like last time, and he takes another small, tiny sip of water.

            We repeat this process for a half hour, sometimes interrupted by a few tears or whimpers from Roger, until finally he's finished the whole cup of water.

            He leans against me, giving into the weakness and tiredness that wracks his whole body, and even though his bones are digging into me painfully everywhere we touch, I'm overwhelmed by that same rush of emotion and happiness as before. I get freaked out and throw him off of me, jumping away as fast as I can and mutter some lame excuse before scampering out the door and into the hall.

Roger POV:

            I stare at Mark's retreating figure as he practically runs out of my room and wonder what the hell just happened.

            _He's mad at you. He hates you because you're too much of a burden. You stupid selfish bastard, you had to give in didn't you? You're so weak…you had to let him help you, you had to depend on him! Well, look what happened. Just what I told you. I told you not to do that, you idiot. He hates you now because you're such a selfish asshole…and I don't blame him…I hate you too, everyone does…_

            I try not to listen to the voices. I try to block them out but they're taking over my mind and before long I'm shaking and sweating and going into a full blown panic attack.

            I don't really remember much except for a lot of screaming. I'm aware of a lot of commotion going on around me but that's about all I can make out. That, and the voices still swirling around in my mind, berating me for opening up to Mark, for trusting him and letting him help me.

            Suddenly though, I feel someone at my side, grabbing for my hand, and instead of the screaming and yelling, there are soft words and whispers being breathed gently into my ear. The soft touches and whispers are pulling me back to reality. With each passing second I become aware of a little but more.

            Suddenly, I realize that the screaming is coming from _me_ and I close my mouth and open my eyes, which I realize have been clenched shut. I take in the sight before me and can barely muster a whisper.

            "Mark?"

Mark POV:

            I walk down the hall at a quick pace, this time not even noticing the sickly-looking anorexic girls that pass me by, giving me odd looks. I need to go somewhere to clear my head and to sort out my thoughts. It doesn't even occur to me that I should stay with Roger in case he has another panic attack, like he always does, without fail, after eating or drinking.

            Suddenly, I find myself in the hospital cafeteria and I plop down at the first table I see, resting my head in my hands.

            Okay, so I've been having…feelings…for Roger. That's normal, right? I mean, everyone has doubts now and then. That certainly doesn't mean that I'm gay or in love with my best friend. I'm not, and I'm very secure with the fact that I'm straight. I always have been and I always will be. I've never even considering loving another man, and really, I still don't. It's just Roger. Wait, no! I'm _not_ considering loving Roger!

            I sigh in frustration. This is fucking insane. I've just been spending too much time with Roger, too much time thinking about him. That's the only reason I'm even _thinking_ these insane thoughts about my best friend, and nothing more. I just need to distance myself, that's all. Since Roger relapsed my every thought has been about him. I'm sure that's what the problem is. All I need is a little distance, some time to myself, some time away from him constantly being in wrapped in my arms, and my hands to his mouth, helping him eat.

            I spend a few more minutes convincing myself of this and then decide it's safe to head back to Roger's room to tell him I won't be visiting for a while.

            As I walk down the long corridor to the eating disorders ward, I notice that for once, the halls are completely empty and there's an eerie silence from the lack of doctors and nurses that are usually bustling about. That is, until I get closer to Roger's room and hear screaming and crying, and above it all, the sound of many doctors talking all at once, shouting things like "Sedate him," or  "No, he'll come out of it on his own."

            I pick up my speed and run to his bed, pushing through the mass of white coats crowded around Roger's bed. I notice that one of the doctors has a needle poised above Roger's arm and I push his hand away quickly. I wonder if they know about Roger's past with drugs…this is just the sort of thing that could get him hooked again.

            "Don't use drugs just yet, okay? He has to do this on his own. He has to learn that he can pull out of this by himself, without drugs."

            The doctor gives me an annoyed look but withdraws his hand since, by court order, I'm Roger's legal guardian until he comes out of the hospital, and I have the authority to decide what drugs I want or don't want Roger to take.

            I take Roger's hand and hold it tightly, then lower myself so that I'm whispering in his ear, trying to get through to the man lost inside this crying, shaking, body.

            Suddenly, he stops screaming and opens his eyes, looking rather dazed, and whispers, "Mark?"

            I nod and squeeze his hand to assure him that I'm here.

            "You're going be alright Roger, you'll be just fine…"

            After a lot of questions and prying from the doctors in the room, they finally leave me and Roger alone. I get uncomfortable holding his hand like that and drop it, looking anywhere but directly at Roger. I clear my throat, trying to find a way to tell him my decision from before.

            "Um…Roger, I'm going to be pretty busy these next few days and I don't think I'll be able to come see you."

            "I knew it, I'm sorry Mark! I knew I shouldn't have told you those things! I won't do that again, okay? I'll eat on my own and I swear, I won't take advantage of you again… Just…just please don't stop visiting?"

            Take advantage of me? Oh God, he feels bad for letting me help. I hate myself for doing what I'm about to do. But what other choice do I have? These feelings I have, I can't let them get even bigger than they are already. I can't let this thing grow out of control, I have to stop it now before it ruins 11 years of friendship.

            So I take Roger's hand in mine once more and squeeze it, at a loss for words, and walk out the door, Roger's cries still ringing in my ears even as I walk in the front door to the loft.


	7. Your Eyes

Mark POV:

            I sit at the kitchen table, staring at my lunch sullenly, not really having an appetite. It's been a week since I left Roger at the hospital and I haven't seen him or spoken to him since. Not that I really expected to. Roger, until he starts eating regularly and gains weight, isn't allowed to use the phone or, basically, have any contact with the outside world at all.

            I sigh and start pushing the food around on my plate, but then laugh when I see what I've done. Inadvertently, I'd rearranged all the food in color order. I guess after watching Roger do it for so long that it's just instinct. I mess it all up again and start eating, even though I have no appetite at all.

            As the mashed potatoes fill my mouth and stomach, I think of Roger in the hospital and wonder how he's doing. I wonder if he's eating, or if he's gained any weight, or...

            And there I go thinking about Roger again. Every thought I've had since I left that hospital a week ago has been about, or connected in some way to Roger. I have to stop doing that, because the more I think about Roger, the more I think about _me and Roger. And isn't the whole reason I stopped seeing him in the first place to stop thinking about that?_

            For the millionth time this week, I question whether or not leaving him was the right decision. But it has to be. I mean, I have to stop this, these thoughts and feelings before they get out of control. If I don't they'll just grow and grow to the point that Roger and I can't even be in the same room together.

            But, now that I think about it, isn't it at that point already? I don't know, maybe I've been going about this the wrong way. Maybe instead of pushing this out of my mind, pretending it doesn't exist, the trick is to focus on it and try to figure out what these feelings and emotions mean. Because I already know one thing for sure: Mark Cohen is not gay.

            But there's still that small part of me that questions whether or not this is true. That says these kinds of feelings come only when you've found your one true love. And when you've found them, it shouldn't matter if it's a boy or girl, whether you're gay or straight... All that should matter is that you've found that one person, the one person who can make and keep you happy for the rest of you life, your soul mate.

            I nearly choke on my potatoes when I realize what I was just thinking. Roger can't be my soul mate, and not only because he's another man, though that _is_ a big factor. Roger has been my best friend for God knows how many years. Am I really willing to throw that away just for a silly crush that will probably last no longer than a month?

            I'm not sure about my feelings for Roger or really about anything right now. But there is one thing I do know for sure, and that is that if I do decide to pursue this and tell Roger my feelings, there'd be no turning back. It would permanently damage our friendship and that's just something that I'm not willing to let happen.

            I sigh in frustration and confusion as I finish the last of my chicken salad and bring my dish over to the sink. Well, at least I've figured out that I do in fact have feelings for Roger. How deep, I'm not sure. But it's something, that much I can't deny.

            As I finish washing off the plates and other various dirty dishes that have been collecting in the sink since I've been home, the phone rings, and I reach out with soapy hands to answer it.

            "Hello?"

            "Hi, is this Mark Cohen?"

            "Yes it is...who is this?"

            "This is Dr. Greene. I'm calling about Roger Davis..."

            I cut him off, worried that something may have happened to Roger.

            "Is he okay? Did something happen?"

            He pauses and I can tell that this is definitely not good news he's about to deliver.

            "Well since he's been in the hospital he's lost two pounds, despite the IV's he's on, and he refuses to eat or drink anything. He also stopped talking, not only to me and his other doctors, but to the other patients and to people in general. I just thought you should be aware of this considering -"

            I interrupt him again.

            "Can he still have visitors?"

            He pauses. "Well…he's really not supposed to now that he's regressed in his treatment but I suppose it would be alright it you came to see him since it seemed to help last time…"

            "Okay, thank you!"

            I literally slam down the phone and don't even bother throwing my jacket on as I run out of the loft and onto the cold streets of New York.

Roger POV:

            I sit and stare at the food that has been placed in front of me and then look up at the nurse, who's looking down at me expectantly, as if she thinks I'm about to eat it any second. Damn these doctors and nurses. Don't they know by now that I'm not going to eat? Oh well, she'll leave after a while, once she sees that I'm not eating. They always leave.

            Once she finally does leave, I take my fork and start playing with my food, separating the corn into four piles, finding different ways to arrange the food: color order, separating everything into fourths… whatever I happen to feel like at the moment.

            After I've completely arranged the food on my plate twice, in two different ways, I hear someone enter my room and I drop my fork and stare at the opposite wall, expecting it to be another nosy doctor or nurse, coming to check on me and see if I've actually eaten anything.

            "Roger?"

            I snap my head up and stare at the person who's now standing by my bedside. Mark. My supposed "best friend" who hasn't visited me, or even called me in over a week.

            I immediately feel guilty about thinking that. I shouldn't be mad at him. He has every right to be angry with me. After the things I told him last week I don't blame him one bit. I shouldn't have given in to him like I did. He swore though, he kept promising that I wasn't too much for him and that I wasn't a burden, and I stupidly listened. I hate myself for it now.

            I keep looking up at him but he doesn't say anything. Well, I hope he doesn't expect me to. I have to be extremely careful about what I say around Mark – around everyone – from now on. I don't want something like what happened last week to happen again.

            My mind keeps playing it over and over in my head… I must have sounded so ridiculous, so crazy, telling Mark about how the voices in my head won't let me eat or drink anything. God, every time I think about that I'm humiliated all over again.

            "Roger," he says again, though this time with a little more force.

            Once again, I ignore him and go back to my food, trying to get the four piles of carrots symmetrical.

            He startles me by grabbing the fork out of my hand. "Stop it Roger. You can't do that. You're supposed to _eat you food, not make it into works of art."_

            I take this last comment as a compliment and smile, despite myself.

            "It wasn't a compliment! I meant you can't do this," he says, pointing to the almost symmetrical piles of food cut up into fourths on my plate. "And you knew that."

            _Whatever, Mommy. This is the first time you've seen me in over a week and what's the first thing you do? Nag, as usual. Just leave me alone._

            "Roger!" I can tell by his voice that he's getting just slightly annoyed now at the fact that I still haven't spoken one word to him sine he's been here. It's strange though. With the doctors and my therapist, it's almost like a game. It's fun seeing them get so frustrated at the fact that I refuse to talk to them. It's like a control game…and they always lose. But with Mark… I don't know, it's different. I feel almost guilty when I see how hurt he looks because I won't speak to him. But still, I don't want to give in just yet. I want to see him get even just a fraction of how hurt he made me after doing what he did last week.

            And there I go again, blaming the whole thing on Mark when really I know that it was my fault…all my fault. It was me who took advantage of him by telling him those things, those crazy things that no normal person wants to hear from their best friend, let alone deal with. Me who-

            My thoughts are interrupted by Mark desperately calling out my name again.

            "Roger, please, talk to me! I-"

            "I'm sorry."

            "You…what? You're sorry?" I don't understand the look of confusion on his face. Why is he not understanding my apology?

            "I'm sorry for telling you about the…those things. And for taking advantage of your help.

            "Roger," He speaks strongly and firmly. "You did _not take advantage of my help. You didn't do anything wrong, I'm glad you told me what you did. You shouldn't have to keep things to yourself, no matter how big or how small. You know I'm always here for you. Don't ever think you have to protect me or keep things from me, okay?"_

            Now it's my turn to be confused. "But…no…then why did you leave the way you did? You were mad at me. If it wasn't because of that then what was it?"

            "Rog, I wasn't mad at you! I was just…" He sighs, refusing to meet my eye. "Listen, I can't talk about this right now. Lets just say there are things going on with me that I had to figure out."

            _Yeah sure. _

I don't believe him, I know he's just saying that to make me feel better but I nod anyway and smile, glad that he came to visit me again.

            Mark smiles back awkwardly and slips the fork back into my hand.

            "You're gonna eat now, right?"

            I shake my head. He may be able to get me to talk again but I'm not giving in on this one. Three whole days I've gone without having a panic attack. Three days. And that's only because I've been able to refuse the meals and water these doctors keep trying to force into my system. I just can't eat, not now. Maybe later it won't seem so scary and I'll be able to eat then but the thought of it is just too terrifying right now.

            "Please Rog…" He sighs sadly and tries not to let the tears I see forming in his eyes escape. "Why not?"

            "I…I just can't. Please understand, Mark, it's… you don't understand how it is. I can't do it." I almost start crying myself at the look of hurt on Mark's face and, noticing the tears welling up in the corners of my eyes, Mark hands me a tissue from the box next to my bed and sits down next to me on my bed.

            "Please Roger? If I helped you?"

            "No!" I shake my head firmly. I'm not going to let what happened last time happen again. There's no way, I can't do that to Mark again. He has his own life and it shouldn't always have to be revolving around me.

Mark POV:

            I see Roger shaking his head and I know exactly what he's thinking.

            "Roger, you know, you'd be hurting me a lot more by not doing this than if you let me help you. You wouldn't be hurting me or upsetting me by accepting my help, you would be making me feel so much better by letting me help you get well again."

            He pauses for a second and then shakes his head again, though with more hesitation this time, I notice. I can tell that I'm starting to get through.

            "Well," I state, breaking off a piece of his sandwich, "you're eating anyway, whether you do it willingly or not."

            His dark eyes go wide with terror and he turns his head quickly away from me and buries it in his pillow. I hate myself for doing this to him. I have to keep reminding myself that it's for his own good and that if I don't do it he'll die.

            He's pretty weak from having not eaten in so long so it's not hard to wrestle the pillow away from his grasp and force the small piece of sandwich in his mouth. I don't give him a choice in swallowing on his own this time, because I know he won't. Not yet anyway, but we're far from done. I hold his mouth closed and stroke his throat so he's forced to swallow, and when I'm sure he has I release him and he smacks me lightly, though I'm sure he intended it to be much harder.

            "What the hell is your problem?! Stop fucking doing that!"

            "You know I don't want to! Do you think I like having to force-feed you to keep you alive? I wouldn't have to do it if you ate on your own for once!" I realize how harsh my words must have sounded to his fragile ego and I sit next to him again, softening my tone. "I hate having to do that to you, Roger. I really do, you know that. But I have to until you agree to eat on your own. It's the only way to keep you alive." I attempt to give him a look that shows how much I care but God only knows how it came off in Roger's mind. 

            But he gives me a tiny smile in return and says so softly that at first I don't even realize he's talking, "I guess…I guess I can try to eat now."

            I try not to look too excited as I thrust the fork into his hand and wait for him to take a bite from the food. But he doesn't. He just sits there motionless, staring, forlorn, at his plate and the food piled on it.

            "Roger? Are you okay?"

            He doesn't respond, doesn't even move a muscle. So I sigh and hesitantly take the fork into my own hand, pierce a carrot with it, and bring it to his lips.

            But then he starts shaking so hard that it's impossible to get the food anywhere near his mouth so I have no choice but to put my arms around him, like I usually do, to stop the shaking and then try to feed him once again. I don't know why this is affecting me the way it is. I've done this about a million times in the past two years and I've never had this kind of a reaction before, never felt these rush of emotions course through my body, making me tingle everywhere we touch as he leans his weight into my embrace.

            _Oh God, just don't think about it. You're here to help Roger…help him eat. Nothing more._

            He seems to sense my hesitation and pulls away from me, but I grab him again, gently, to reassure him, and he slowly relaxes (well, as much as he can considering the situation) in my arms once again.

            After about ten minutes of feeding him he seems to calm down marginally and I put the fork down on his plate and look at him.

            "Do you want to try it by yourself now?"

Roger POV:

            Oh God, oh my God, I can't do this. Everything's starting again… As soon as I felt the food in my stomach the feelings and thoughts I've always dreaded and feared so much started again.

            "Roger?" I can hear him call out to me in the distance. "Roger, look at me, what's wrong? Tell me, I can help you!"

            _Don't say it. Don't tell him, do you remember what happened last time? For once, stop being a selfish asshole and think of someone else for a change. Stop burdening Mark, stop pouring your problems on other people!_

            "Roger!" He turns my body so that I'm facing him but I look past him at the wall. If I do look at him I'm afraid of what I might do, of what I might say.

Mark POV 

            Why won't Roger answer me? What's going on in that mind of his? That's when it snaps… I know exactly what's going on. I grab him and turn him to face me and try to catch his swimming vision but he refuses to meet my gave as he stares at the wall behind me.

            "Roger, look at me! Please, let me help you!"

            He doesn't respond but I can feel him quivering under my grip.

            "Rog, c'mon, please let me help you! You're not a burden…"

            "Yes I am," he says in a shaky voice. "Yes I am a burden, I've never been anything but a problem to you, to Collins, Mimi, my parents…everyone.

            "No Roger, that's not true, you know that's not true. Listen to me! You're a nice, wonderful person and you_ don't cause problems for us."_

            He sniffs and it's then that I realize he's crying. I try to brush the tears away but there are too many so I settle for hugging him and rocking him in my arms, trying to do something…anything to make him feel better at all.

            "No one likes me, Mark. You don't understand. I take up their time and lives with my stupid problems, I depend on them too much…"

            "Roger, shut up!" He looks up at me and stops crying for a second, shocked at my words and the tone in which they were said. To tell you the truth, I think I'm a little shocked myself. But I can't help it. I can't stand to hear Roger say those things about himself. I hate to see him in so much pain.

            After a few seconds, he twists away from me again and resumes wallowing in his self-hatred, rambling on and on about how stupid he is, how everyone hates him, that he's just a burden, that no one wants around, blah blah blah.

            "No one likes me, no one ever has…"

            I grab Roger fiercely by the shoulders and force him to look at me. I look right into his eyes…those deep, wonderful, dark eyes of his. The eyes that seem to hold the weight of the world, the depth of the ocean. Through his eyes I can see his heart, feel it and sense what he's feeling too. And suddenly I can feel the truth in my own heart, I hear what it's been trying to tell me for weeks now but I've been too stubborn to listen to.  I finally realize what I've known all along.

"I love you."

            He stops shaking and crying and through his still tear-filled brown eyes I can see the look of despair and fear replaced by a more complex emotion that I don't think I've ever seen in Roger before. And above it all, confusion. Confusion and maybe fear... fear of what's to come. "What?"  
            I look into his eyes again, his heart, praying that he can see into mine too, and repeat, "I love you." 

A/N: I'm soo bad at writing slash…don't worry though, this won't have the same fluffiness and awful clichéd plot as my last slash fic ( I hope!). More to come soon!


	8. Never Giving Up

A/N: Whew, I got through the hardest part! I'm so glad to be done with this chapter! I hope you like it, please let me know what you think.

Roger POV:

            "You…you love me?"  The screaming voices in my head stop, my hands stop shaking and my heart returns to its normal, though still racing, volume in my chest.

            Mark squeezes his eyes shut for a minute but then opens them again and stares at me with a look of fierce determination on his face. He looks right into my eyes as he repeats once again, "Yes, I love you."

            All of a sudden, thoughts are racing through my head at the speed of lightning, so fast that I'm hardly even cognizant of most of them as I try to interpret the meaning of Mark's words. He loves me… As a brother? A friend? Or…as something…more?

            But one look at the intense mixture of fear, determination, and hope on his face lets me know exactly what those words mean…Oh. My. God.

            "Mark, I…I…" I don't know what to say. What is there to say when your male best friend of 11 years tells you they're in love with you?

            "Please Roger, don't get freaked out, don't hate me…"

            "Mark, I don't hate you, it's just…well, God Mark, what do you want me to say? That I'm in love with you too?"

            "Well…" 

Oh my God, that _is_ how he expected me to respond!

            "No, don't answer that!" I run a hand through my hair, frustrated at my inability to form coherent thoughts. Finally, after a long pause I say, trying to control the tremor in my voice, "Listen Mark, I have a girlfriend…who I'm very much in love with. And also, I'm not gay!"

            "Well, neither am I! I mean, just because I love you doesn't mean I'm gay. I don't love _men_… I love you."

            "Yes, but I'm a man!"

            "No, you're a person! You're Roger! I don't love you because you're a man, I love you because you're you!"

            I'm taken aback by his words. I don't think anyone – not even Mimi – has ever said anything like that to me before. But still, that doesn't change the fact that I'm a straight man and in love with a woman. But looking at the hurt on Mark's face I almost wish I _was_ gay, just to take that look of despair and rejection off his face.

            "How can you say that you're in love with Mimi? She hasn't come to see you once, not _once_ since you've been here! Rog, I've been here every day! I went with you in the ambulance and slept here in that cot your first night here, I hold your hand and help you eat when you can't do it by yourself, I've spent entire weeks in the loft, never going out just to make sure you ate and that someone would be there with you if you passed out! Dammit Roger, _that's_ love," he says, waving his hand between us. "Not great sex with a beautiful woman."

            "Mark…" God, how can I do this to him again? How the fuck can I break his heart and tell him that I don't love him the way he loves me? God, WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME WHO RIPS HIS HEART OUT??

            I take his hand in mind and run my thumb soothingly over his knuckles, praying that he'll understand and that this wouldn't ruin our friendship for good.

            "Mark, you know I've always loved you as a best friend, a brother… But, I just… I don't love you the way you love me."

            He doesn't let me finish my thought. He pulls his hand away from me and looks at me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen in my life, the huge blue crystals filling with tears, as he turns away from me so I won't see the tears splashing down his cheeks.

            He doesn't need to say anything, those eyes said more than words ever could. _Betrayal, rejection, heart-break…_

            I place my hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him, but he pulls away quickly and looks at me once more, before turning around again. He starts walking towards the door, but then rethinks it and walks back to me, grabs me by the scruff of the next, and before I know what is happening, his lips are on mine, and for 4 incredible seconds I lose myself in the softness of his lips against my own, the feeling of them pressed against mine gently. For just a second, I forget it is Mark that I'm kissing and begin to kiss back, all my fears and problems forgotten as I take in the sweetness and texture of his mouth, getting lost on my own separate plane of existence as feelings I've never in my life experienced before course through my body, leaving me breathless when Mark finally pulls away.

            I can tell from the look on his face that he's as shocked as I am that a kiss can arouse such feelings in a person but he says nothing as he looks at me once again before scampering out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Mark POV:

            Once in the hall, I run the entire way back to the loft. I don't slow down, I don't look back. Because I know that if I do I won't have the strength to keep running. I'd run right back to Roger and I can't let myself do that this time. He has to figure things out on his own. I just pray that he'll think about what I said and make the right decision. Because I know that kiss meant something to him… Maybe not as much as it did to me but it was something. I could see it in his eyes.

            Once I'm back at the loft I flop down on the couch and try not to think about the past hour. I can't believe I just did that. What the hell was I thinking? I don't even know if what I said was true. _Do_ I love Roger? Do I even have feelings for him at all? Or is this just some stage that I'll get over in a few weeks? What if everyone has feelings like this from time to time? But what if they don't? Did I just ruin my friendship with Roger for nothing? I'm so fucking confused… I don't know what the hell to think anymore!

            But that kiss… Oh. My. God. That was like…like nothing I've ever experienced before! There aren't even words to describe it. It was just…just perfect. But maybe Roger's just an amazing kisser… I mean, he's always had tons of girlfriends. When we're in a club he's like a magnet, women just seem to flock to him. So maybe this thing's just physical…?

            I have to laugh at that thought. Roger is anything _but_ attractive right now. He looks like one of those half dead zombies you always see in cheesy horror flicks. But there's no denying he was gorgeous in the past. I mean, even I can admit that safely without the risk of sounding gay. So why didn't I find myself attracted to him before? Why now, when he's so skinny that at first glance you can't even tell if he's alive?

            I sigh, frustrated at my back and forth intimate feelings for my best friend. There's a knock at the door and I get up to answer it, expecting it to be Collins or Joanne or someone coming to see how Roger's doing since he lost weight and can't get visitors anymore. I pull open the door and am surprised to see Mimi standing there, dressed for the Cat scratch Club, in a skin tight leather halter top, looking casual, as though nothing's happened. Oh great, just the person I need to see right now.

            "Hi Mimi," I force myself to say in a friendly tone. "What's up?"

            "Hey, Mark. I just came by to see Roger, I haven't seen him in a while."

            I stare at her for a moment, not knowing what to say. I don't know if she's honestly being serious or if she's just trying to cover up for the fact that she hasn't visited Roger once in the three weeks he's been in the hospital.

            "Um… Mimi, Roger's not home." I say, at a loss for better words.

            "Oh."  She chews on a black painted fingernail and looks at me, obviously expecting me to say more. When I don't she says, "Okaaay, well, do you know when he'll be back?"

            I shrug. "When he decides to eat and drink again, and his doctors and the courts think he's ready to come home."

            She looks at me like I've suddenly grown five heads and says, "Mark, what the hell are you talking about? Did something happen to Roger?"

            I open the door a little further and motion for her to come in.

            "Do you honestly not know, Mimi?"

            "Know _what?!!_"

            I sigh, sitting down on the couch again, rubbing my temples, not believing that the woman Roger claims to be in love with doesn't even know he's been in the hospital for the past three weeks.

            "Mimi," I begin, searching for the right words. "Roger…relapsed and he got pretty bad so I had him committed and he's been in the hospital for a little less than a month now."

            She sits down on the couch next to me, in shock, and covers her mouth with her hand, her deep brown eyes growing wide. "Oh shit… Oh my God, I can't believe I didn't know. He's anorexic again?"

            I nod sadly.

            "How… When did this happen?"

            I sigh and repeat the whole story from the beginning for what seems like the millionth time this past month.

After I'm done Mimi shakes her head and stares at the floor for a few seconds before turning to me again with her big brown eyes filled with tears. "Why does he do that to himself, Mark?"

            I sigh and think back to all the session with Dr. Gomez that I attended last year. "Because he hates himself and he thinks he deserves it, because he doesn't trust people so he turns to an eating disorder instead, because he doesn't want to deal with his problems so he deals with them by starving himself…"

            I could go on and on but the hurt look on Mimi's face stops me so I don't continue with the long list of why Roger is intent on starving himself to death.

            "But that's so stupid," she yells, her voice a mixture of sadness and anger. "Doesn't he know how much we all love him and how much we care for him? Have we not shown it enough?"

            "Calm down Mimi, don't be mad, okay? I doubt there's anything in the world that anyone could do to prove how much he's loved and cared for. It's just how his brain works and getting angry only makes things worse. You just have to consistently show him that you're there for him, and you're not going to leave him."

            She throws her hands up in the air, obviously frustrated and annoyed. "We've been doing that for the past two years, dammit! How long is this going to go on?"

            "A long time obviously, and there's no use in getting mad at him!" I'm starting to get pretty mad myself, not at Roger though, at Mimi. I can't believe how mad she's getting at Roger. Frustrated and upset, I can understand. But Mimi's just downright mad. I try to calm myself down by reminding myself that she doesn't understand. She hasn't been there all those times when he's gotten panic attacks, never experienced a screaming match with him over meals, hasn't seen the way he gets after eating… She's never around Roger so she doesn't understand what he's going through.

            When I turn to look at her again most of the anger has left her face and has been replaced with a sad, melancholy look. "I know," she says quietly. "It's just…God, do you know how hard it is to see someone you love do this to themselves?"

            "Yes," I respond, without thinking.

            She raises an eyebrow and looks at me in surprise. "You do?"

            "Oh, uh, no. I mean, I can imagine."

            She nods and is quiet for a few seconds before saying, "Is he allowed to get visitors?"

            I shake my head. "Not anymore. They let me see him today but that's only because the courts made me his legal guardian until he gets out of the hospital. When he gains weight and starts eating he'll be allowed to have visitors again though."

            She shakes her head sadly. "That could take forever. How about phone calls?"

            "Well…not really. But I can call and then put you on the line if you want."

She sighs and then looks at me with a look of sad determination on her face. "Yeah…that'd be good. Thanks, Mark." 

            I smile sadly at her and then get up and dial the number of the hospital.

Roger POV:

            After Mark rushes out of the room after our kiss, I keep expecting to see him walk back in and apologize for running away like that. But he doesn't come back, and not for the first time since he left my room, I wonder if I just lost Mark as my best friend.

            I try to keep my mind on that, and not on that amazing kiss we shared, that left me breathless, though it only lasted a few seconds. No, I can't think about that because despite how good and right it felt, I'm straight and in love with a beautiful, sweet woman…who hasn't come to visit me once since I've been here.

            I sigh, remembering what Mark said about Mimi not really being in love with me. But, I mean, she has to be right? Just because she didn't visit me doesn't mean she doesn't love me as much as I love her. I haven't even been allowed to have visitors lately anyway!

            I can't believe that Mark's in love with me… I wish I had handled it better when he told me. Then maybe he wouldn't have rushed out the way he did, looking so hurt and sad.

            I hope this won't ruin our friendship, please God, don't let this ruin our friendship. I don't know what I'll do if I lose Mark. Sometimes it seems like he's the only friend I have, and the only one crazy enough to put up with and take care of me for 11 years. Without him, I'd be completely alone, and if that happened I'd kill myself.

            Suddenly Elisabeth, a 14 year-old bulimic girl on the unit, appears in my doorway and tells me I have a phone call. Since I haven't started eating consistently and gained weight, they won't let me have a phone in my room or make outgoing calls, so I get up out of bed slowly and walk into the hall to the payphone, trying not to walk too swiftly so as not to pull any of my IV's.

            I take the phone from Katie anxiously, expecting it to be Mark, since he's the only one who's allowed to call me now.

            "Roger?"

            "Mimi?"  I'm startled to hear her voice on the other end and wonder how she convinced the staff to let her talk to me.

            "Hey, Roger. How are you doing?"

            I pause for a second, debating whether or not to tell her the truth, but in the end I decide against it since my calls are limited to fifteen minutes.

            "I'm doing good."

            She doesn't say anything for a few seconds and I wonder to myself why she's being so quiet.

Mimi POV:

            I bite my lip and look at Mark, not believing for one second that Roger's "doing good."  If he was, he wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed, weighing less than me, and barely able to hold himself upright.

            My thoughts are interrupted by Roger's voice as he says, "How did you convince them to let you talk to me?"

            "Oh, uh, I didn't. Mark called and put me on the line."

            "Oh."

            Another uncomfortable silence.

            I open my mouth a few times, trying to state the reason for my call, but can't bring myself to actually form the words. It's been two years that Roger's been anorexic now. At first, I stood by his side every second and did everything I knew of to help him, but nothing worked. He just kept getting worse and worse, eating less with each passing day, losing more and more weight until he got so weak that he couldn't even stand on his own anymore. Eventually I just backed off since everything I did just seemed to make him worse. 

Then he finally started to get better, he was eating, gaining weight, and was starting to look like his old, healthy self again. Things seemed like they were getting back to normal, but now he relapsed again and things are worse than ever! I love Roger, I really do…with all my heart. Which is why I have to do this. I can't just stand by and watch my poor baby do this to himself. No one knows how hard it is to watch the love of their life starve themselves to death, knowing there's absolutely nothing you can do about it! Well, I can't watch anymore. It hurts me too much to see Roger doing this, to see how much pain he's in all the time. 

I have to leave him, at least until he gets better, because I can't keep torturing myself by watching him do this. I love him too much for that. God, I just hope he understands and won't hate me for doing this…

            "Mimi? Are you okay?"

            "What? Oh, um, yeah. Actually, no I'm not okay…"

            "What's wrong?"

            Oh God, I have to say it, I have to do this…

            "Roger, I, um…" I take a deep breath.  "I love you so much, you know that. But I think - just for now, until you're better - that we should stop seeing each other," I blurt out quickly.  "I just… I can't stand by and watch you do this to yourself anymore."

            I wait for him to say something…anything…but there's only silence on the other end. I'm about to say something else but suddenly I hear a click and the line goes dead, the dial tone ringing in my ear.

Roger POV:

            Oh God, oh my God, Mark was right… He was right, Mimi doesn't love me. Everything is spinning in my head, I need to find a way to make this go away. I can't deal with it now, I have to make this pain go away!

            Suddenly I see Fiona walking swiftly up and down the hall, probably exercising, and I know exactly what to do. She and her friends pull this all the time, I know I'll get away with it. I grab her by the arm and pull her over to the payphones with me, whispering in her ear.

            "Can you ask to go to the bathroom and leave the door open for me?" I whisper to her.

            She looks at me in confusion. "I didn't know you did that…"

            I nod, getting slightly annoyed because I need release and I need it _now._

            "Yeah, I do sometimes. Will you do it?"

            She nods. "Sure, but you owe me one, okay?"

            I agree quickly and watch as she walks up to the nurse, who pulls the bathroom key out of her pocket, and they walk together to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

            They always keep the bathroom door locked so we won't be able to get in there without supervision, in case we might throw up. The only way to get in the bathroom is if you ask a nurse to unlock it for you, and they always wait outside and listen to make sure you're not purging.

            That's why a lot of girls on the unit get a friend to ask to go to the bathroom and then leave the door slightly cracked open so they'll be able to get in there without asking a nurse. That way they can throw up without getting caught.

            Finally, after what seems like forever, Fiona comes waltzing out of the bathroom and continues pacing the halls frantically, trying to lose all the "weight" she's gained in the past few weeks she's been in the hospital.

            When I see the nurse return to her station, I walk nonchalantly to the bathroom, and when I'm sure no one's looking, I slip in quickly and close the door all the way shut behind me.

            Unlike most of the girls here, I don't care if I gain a pound, or 10, or 50. The only reason I do this is to get rid of the awful feelings inside of me, the feelings I get when things just keep piling up and there's no other way to get rid of them. No other way to get them out other than this.

            I kneel in front of the toilet and, trying to be as quiet as I can so as not to get caught, I stick my fingers down my throat and let the anger and resentment and heart-ache rush out of me along with the food I ate for lunch.

Mark POV:

            I stare at Mimi in shock, my mouth hanging open, as she hangs up the phone and stares down at the floor.

            "Mimi, why the hell did you do that??"

            "I can't stand it anymore Mark!" She says, wiping a tear from her cheek angrily. "It's so frustrating, I can't watch him do it to himself anymore!"

            "You think I don't know that? I know that the best of all of us, I LIVE with him, dammit, but I never gave up on him! You don't think it's frustrating for me to literally force feed him the little nutrients he gets? Or to see him confined to his bed because he's so weak from not eating that he can't stand by himself anymore? You can't just give up on him though! All that does is prove to him that he's right about no one caring and about him being nothing but a burden!"  I know I should stop but I can't. The words just keep flowing from my mouth. I can't believe she would do that to the man she claims to be in love with.

            Suddenly, a thought flashes through my mind and I race to my room and grab my coat, barely even stopping to yell to Mimi, "I'm going to the hospital," before flying down the stairs and running full speed to the hospital. I can only imagine what Roger must be doing right now…

Roger POV:

            When I finish throwing up, I wash my hands and wish I had a toothbrush or at least some gum to get rid of the taste in my mouth. But we're not allowed to have gum here (don't ask me why) and in my hurry, I forgot to grab my toothbrush from my room so I could brush the stomach acid off my teeth. There's no mirror in her either, so I can't check to make sure I look normal and not like someone who just threw up. There's no mirrors anywhere on the unit at all. We're not allowed to have anything glass, and the staff doesn't want the weight-obsessed patients constantly staring at their reflection in the mirror, studying themselves for every ounce of "fat" they may have gained.

            But I don't want to spend any longer in here, in fear that someone may come in and catch me, so I slip out of the bathroom quickly, hoping my face isn't too red or my eyes too bloodshot.

            No one seems to notice me as I walk, as casually as I can, down the narrow hallway. I see Fiona in the hall, still pacing, and thank her again before going back to my room.

            "Roger?"

            I jump, startled, and turn around to see Mark in my room, perched on the chair next to my bed. Oh shit, I hope he doesn't know what I just did…

            "Oh, uh, hey Mark."  I laugh nervously.

            "Where were you, Rog?"

"Um, I was in the bathroom."

            He raises an eyebrow. "For fifteen minutes?"

            Shit, I hadn't realized how long I'd been in there.

            I don't have an excuse so I sit down on my bed, hoping he'll just let it drop.

            "There wasn't any nurse by the bathroom door. I thought they don't let you use the bathroom without a nurse outside."

            I shit uncomfortably. "Yeah, um… I don't know, I guess she just left. Maybe there was some emergency or something."

            "Roger, stop lying to me. Your eyes are bloodshot and you're all sweaty… I know what you were doing."

            I glare at him angrily. "Why did you come here?"

            "Because I knew what you were doing."

            Damn him. He thinks he knows everything about me and it's really starting to piss me off. But he was right, this time, and I have no argument so I keep my mouth shut.

            "Why do you have to do that every time you get upset?" he asks, his voice holding a bit of anger.

            "Well what else am I supposed to do? If you can think of some other way to get rid of that awful I-think-I'm-about-to-have-a-heart attack-and-DIE-from-anxiety feeling than by all means, tell me, I'd love to hear it cause I sure can't think of any!"

            "Have you ever tried _talking?_"

            "Yes, as a matter of fact I have. Though it's a little hard to talk when you can't even seem to get enough air to _breathe!_"

            "Well then go to a doctor, lie down! Throwing up your feelings won't make them go away!"

            "No, but then I can _talk_ about them!"

            "So then go ahead…talk."

            I pause. I hadn't expected that.

            "See? You still can't do it, you still can't talk." 

            "There's nothing to talk about," I say quietly, hoping he'll get the message and won't push the subject.

            "There's not? Well what about the fact that your girlfriend just dumped you? Or how you've been in the hospital for the past three weeks because you can't eat or drink, and on the rare occasion that you _do_, you throw it all up! Seems like there's plenty to talk about, you just won't do it."

            "Maybe I just can't right now, okay? It's too fast, I can't deal with it all at once, just drop it!"

            "But you _never_ deal with it! You just let it build up until it gets so bad that you have panic attacks! And then it just starts all over again because you think that by starving yourself and throwing up, all your problems and anxieties will go away."

            Fuck you Mark. Fuck you and your logic. I don't have a response though so I don't say anything for a second. Finally I say, "Is Mimi with Benny again?"

            He looks surprised for a second at the sudden topic change and says, "I have no idea… No, I don't think so. Why?"

            I shrug. "I was just wondering, that's all."

            "Rog, if you think that's why she broke up with you…"

            "No, I don't think that," I interrupt. "You always just assume what I'm thinking."

            "Okay then…what _are_ you thinking?"

            I'm thinking that you told her what you told me and she dumped me because she didn't want to stand in the way of "us". But I won't say that out loud. So instead I say, "I was just wondering why she would just suddenly break up with me like that."

            He bites his lip. "Roger, she told you why. She couldn't take what you were doing to yourself. She didn't want to stand by and watch anymore."

            "But she _wasn't_ just standing by and watching! I don't even think she knew what was going on. And besides, you've put up with me for two years now…why haven't _you_ left?" Ha – just try and lie your way out of that one.

            "Because I lo-"

            He stops short and, blushing furiously, turns away from me to stare at the wall.

            Okaaay…not the response I had anticipated. 

            There's an uncomfortable silence and neither of us says anything for a while. I resort to my old method of helping myself through awkward silences and start to count the seconds, just like I used to when I was seeing Dr. Gomez.

            _100, 101, 102, 103…_

            "Roger."

            I hear my name stated firmly and look up to find Mark looking at me, his face now only slightly red.

            "Don't do that."

            I sigh. "Don't do what, Mark?"

            "Count like that." 

            I look at him, confused, and ask, "How did you know I was doing that?"

            "Because you have OCD, I've seen you do it before and it's pretty obvious to tell, and because I know you do things like that when you're uncomfortable."

            "Oh."

            There's another long pause and we both just sit there, staring at each other. I notice him lean in just a bit and begin to feel myself move forward also, despite my brain's commands for me to stop and push him away before this gets too far. My body won't obey me though and as the seconds tick by, we inch closer and closer, until I can feel his warm breath on my lips and smell the tea he drank with his lunch today. He reaches a hand up to graze my cheek and caresses it for a second before letting it rest just under my chin. 

            The soft touch of his skin jolts me back to reality and I pull away sharply, not believing how my body had just reacted to Mark's touch, the feel of his breath mingling with my own, and the sweet smell that was uniquely his. Oh God, that's just not right… I'm not supposed to react that way to Mark, my best friend…practically my brother!

            He seems to sense my anxiety and pulls away also, saying, "God, I'm sorry Roger…"

            I just nod, refusing to meet his gaze, not knowing what to say to make this situation any less awkward.

            "You know what? I think we both just need to spend some time apart to figure out what's happening here. Just…yeah, um, figure things out on our own."

            I'm about to protest, to tell him that I don't want him to leave me alone here and that I'm sorry for causing things to be weird between us but he's out the door before I can even open my mouth.

Damn it, why does he always have to do that? _I'm the infamous runner, the one who's supposed to leave when things like this happen, not him!_

            I sigh. Well, what a great day this has been. My girlfriend dumped me, my best friend kissed me almost twice, and I may have lost one of the greatest friendships I've ever had. 

            But you know, for some reason, I'm not all that upset about losing Mimi… It doesn't really seem like things have changed between us at all. I mean, we'd barely spoken to each other since I'd relapsed, we never saw each other anymore, and to tell you the truth, I don't even think she knew that I'd gotten sick again until recently. When I stopped visiting her and calling her, the relationship just...well, it just kind of stopped. She never tried to contact me and I was too caught up in my own problems, too focused on my problems and fear of eating, to even stop and think of her. Being broken up doesn't feel much different than when we were going out at all. But I don't know, maybe I'm just too numb to be very upset about it right now.

            I sigh and let me head drop back on my pillow. My throat is burning from throwing up again and my stomach is killing me from a mixture of that and I'm sure from not having eaten in so long. I decide that I might as well sleep this off, I'm too numb to think about anything or make any decisions right now. Maybe when I wake up I'll feel better – or at least feel something – but for right now, I just want to lose myself in my dreams and escape from the real world.

Mark POV:

            When I get back to the loft, Mimi's still there sitting in the same spot I'd left her in almost an hour ago.

            "Mimi? What are you still doing here?"

            She turns around anxiously, like she'd been waiting for me to get back for quite a while now.

            "I wanted to know how Roger's doing. Is he okay?"

            I sigh and sit down at the kitchen table with my head in my hands for a second before looking up at her again.

            "Not really… But then again, he hasn't been 'okay' for almost two years now."

            "Yeah, but I meant about... Well, you know. How is he taking it?"

            I shake my head and laugh bitterly at the question. "Well, he was hurt and angry I'm sure, but he threw that up and by the time I got there he didn't seem to have any particular feelings about it. He was just numb to the pain, as usual. It'll come back though...but who's to say what he'll do with it the next time?"

            "Oh God...he threw up?"

            I nod sadly.

            "Well what did you do? Did you tell his doctor?"

            "No. There's nothing they can do about it. Believe me, if he's desperate enough, he'll find a way no matter what. I should know."

            She sighs. "Yeah... Well, I should get going now, I have to work in an hour. When you see him, please tell him how sorry I am, Mark. And that I never wanted to hurt him like this."

            She gets up and walks to the front door but just as she's about to walk out she turns around and says, "Mark, let me know when he's allowed to have visitors again, okay?" I nod and then she's gone, leaving me alone with just my thoughts to torment me.

            I'm so Goddamn frustrated. Sometimes I just want to scream at Roger and hit him for doing this to himself and to us but I know getting angry won't do any good. He can't help it, he's sick. 

Sick and not doing a damn thing to try and get better. It's like he's given up, and sometimes - like right now - I just want to give up also. But I can't do that, I won't let myself give up on him. I try to remind myself that he's gotten through worse. Drugs, withdrawal, AIDS, suicide... he can beat anorexia too. But sometimes I wonder, after fighting all those other things and winning, if he has any more will to fight yet another life-threatening addiction.

            No, he will beat this. He _has to. I won't let him give up and I won't give up on him either. I refuse to lose my best friend to this disease, I won't let him destroy himself again. I just wish I could somehow find a way to convince Roger of that, some way to get it through to him that I'm there for the long run and won't leave his side no matter what. I won't give up on him. No matter how determined he is to destroy himself, I'm not going to let him._


	9. Tying not to Run

Roger POV:

            I watch as the nurse, who was sitting on the chair next to my bed, gets up angrily and walks out of my room. She'd been sitting there for the past hour, watching me play with (rearrange and organize) the food on my plate but not taking a single bite. I haven't eaten a thing since Mark left that day last week and hadn't returned.

            Actually, that's not true. I did eat something two days ago when they threatened me with more tubes and a longer hospital stay. But I threw that up so I guess that really doesn't count. I tried, I really did try to keep it down but I just couldn't. The impulse was too great and in the end I gave in, and I haven't been able to eat since then.

            I push the pile of string beans next to the peas on my plate so they're one big pile of green. Next are the carrots and slices of orange, and the macaroni and corn... I look at the assortment of colors I've made on my plate but frown when I see that the piles are anything but even. I spend the next ten minutes trying to get them symmetrical and perfectly circular but I just can't get it right and the more I try, the more anxious I get until eventually I'm so fed up at my inability to stop trying to perfect the food that I just lose all control and throw the plate against the wall.

            As I stare at the shattered glass on the ground, my mind drifts back to the image of the shattered picture frame on my floor that night...which of course leads me to think of Mark...again.

            Since he left here, a week ago, my every thought has been about him. I keep wondering if he's still at the loft or if he just got fed up with me and moved out, if our friendship is permanently damaged or ruined beyond repair, if he's ever going to come back here again, if he's just given up on me for good...

            I swear, I think of him every single second of the day and dwell on the fact that we may never have the same friendship we used to have even more than the fact that I just lost the love of my life! In fact, to tell you the truth, I can't seem to get myself to feel any sort of emotion whatsoever about Mimi leaving me. I try to tell myself that it's just because I'm so upset unconsciously that I'm just numb about it. And that the only reason I'm spending so much time focusing on Mark is because we've been friends for so long and I don't remember what life is like without him. Because I know I love Mimi, and Mark and I are just friends. Not the other way around. I know that the only reason I'm even _doubting that is because he planted the seed in my head._

            I can't help but think though, that maybe he was right about me and Mimi. I mean, towards the end of our relationship, we really weren't much more than good friends. Mark was right. We never saw each other anymore, she never visited or even called, - except that one time to break up with me - and she backed away as soon as she realized I was having problems again. She didn't try to help, or even talk to me about it, she didn't try and force me to eat or sit with me and hold my hand when I was having panic attacks... Yet Mark _had done all those things. And as he pointed out, those are the things you would do for someone you were in love with. Not just good friends with. But does that mean that Mark __does love me, as he says? And more importantly, do I love him?_

            I sigh and close my eyes, trying to think of something other than Mark and our relationship for once. But as I do, I imagine myself leaning in for that kiss again. I can even feel the dampness, and smell the sweetness of his breath, I can almost taste the tea on his lips and...

            The memory is quickly forgotten though as Dr. Greene walks into my room, followed by the nurse that had been sitting with me before.

            "Roger, you-"  He stops short when he notices that my food is no longer in front of me, but rather on the floor, still in somewhat color order, mixed in with the broken pieces of shattered white ceramic.

            "So I take it you didn't eat dinner?"

            "Well, do you see it on the floor or not?" I say sarcastically and roll my eyes.

            He hesitates for a second and sends the nurse to get a janitor before responding to me.

            "You know, Mr. Davis, your month here is almost up. You only have three more days before the courts and your psychiatrist review your case and from the way things are going now, I'd be willing to bet that you'll be granted another two months certification before they would even consider sending you home."

            "Well what are you going to do, keep me here forever? I mean, with everyone else here, if they don't make any progress, or even try, for a month you just send them home because you can't help them."

            "Well, that may be true for the adolescents on the unit and the adults who come here willingly, but it's not that black and white with you since you're here under involuntary commitment. You're given a month here and if, after that month, you still haven't made progress and we think you wouldn't be able to survive on your own, you get another two months. After that, if you _still haven't made significant progress you'd have to spend another four months here before your case could get reviewed again. And from then on, if you're still not ready, you would stay for six months at a time, with a review at the end of every six month period, until we think you've made enough progress and can survive on your own without tubes and IV's to keep you alive. So, to answer your question, technically, yes, we can keep you here forever if we feel it is necessary."_

            I know he's bluffing. He can't really do that. I smirk at him and settle down on my bed, making myself comfortable. "Well then, you may as well consider this room mine from now on because I don't plan on eating."

            He sighs. "Well, I can tell you from now that if you keep up that attitude it'll be a while before you get out of here."

            I'm about to reply but the janitor walks in the room so I decide not to say anything. After the food is cleaned up and the janitor leaves Dr. Greene says, "I'm going to weigh you tomorrow, Roger, and if you've lost any more weight I'm afraid we'll have to put you on another throat tube."

            "Why? Isn't the one enough?"

            He shakes his head. "Not if you're still losing weight and won't eat on your own."

            I scowl at him as he walks out the door. Bastard. Well fine, he can put me on as many tubes as he wants, that's not going to make me eat. I don't think anything in this world would make me be able to eat again. Just the thought of it is making my hands shake with anxiety and terror. The only person who's ever been able to get me to eat is Mark, and he's obviously not coming back.

            I sigh when I think of him again. I wonder if he knows what's going on right now. He probably does, since he's the one dealing with all this legal stuff. I wish he would come and see me again. It's so lonely here, I've even resorted to talking to some of the girls on the unit. It's always the same conversation though. "I'm so fat, I can't believe how much weight I've gained since I've been here!"  "How can you go so long without eating, Roger?"  "You're so lucky, I wish I had your willpower."

            Well I wish I had _their_ willpower. Because most of them break down and can't even stick to their fast for more than a few days at a time. I wish I could do that. They think I'm so lucky because the prospect of eating is terrifying to me and I can go forever without eating. But they couldn't be more wrong. I wish they could see that, I wish they could see what they're doing to themselves. I wish I had seen it in myself sooner, even if my issues weren't about weight. Maybe if I had I wouldn't be stuck in the mess I'm in now.

            "Roger?"

            I come out of my daze and look up to see Michelle standing in my doorway.

            "You have a phone call."

            I run out into the hall and grab the phone from Fiona, who practically shoves it in my hands, desperate to get back to her pacing.

            "Hello? Mark?"

            "No…it's me."

            "Mimi?"

            Why would she be calling me? And why didn't Mark want to talk to me first, before putting Mimi on the line?

            "Yeah. How are you doing? I wanted to come see you but Mark says you're still not allowed to have visitors."

            "No, not yet. Is Mark there with you?"

            "Yeah, he's right here. Do you want me to put him on the line?"

            "No! I mean, not right now, I'm kind of busy."  I don't want him to know how anxious I've been to talk to him and see him. "Mimi, where are you calling from?"

            "The loft…why?"

            "No reason… Mark still lives there, right?"

            "Of course! Why wouldn't he?"

            "I don't know, I was just asking. When you called, did he ask to talk to me after you were done?"

            "No… I just asked him if he would call so I could talk to you. Are you sure you don't want to talk to him? He's right here…"

            "No thanks, if he doesn't want to talk to me that's fine, I don't really care to talk to him either. I'll spare him the frustration of having to talk to _me_ again."

            I slam down the phone, and walk angrily back to my room. I don't know why I'm getting so upset about this. It's really not a big deal, I mean so what if Mark didn't want to talk to me? What's new? He hasn't wanted to talk to me in over a week. Why am I getting so bothered by this?

            "Roger!"  I hear someone shouting my name from the hall.

            I sigh and get up again, poking my head out of the doorway. Fiona is holding the phone again and motioning for me to come out of my room.

            "Roger, come on, you have a phone call!"

            "Who is it?"

            She sighs and brings the phone up to her ear. I see her mouth a few words and then drop the phone again.

            "Mimi!"

            "Tell her I'm busy."

            I go back into my room, despite Fiona's protests. Finally, she stops yelling for me to pick up the damn phone and instead enters my room, looking very pissed off.

            "Look, I don't want to play phone tag anymore. She told me to tell you that you're a lying bastard and that she won't leave you alone until you talk to her."

            I shrug. "Then hang up on her."

            This solution seems to satisfy Fiona and she goes back into the hall where I see her slam the phone down and return to her exercising.

Mark POV:

            Mimi sighs as she hangs up the phone.

            "He hung up on you again?"

            "No, I couldn't even get him on the line that time," she says as she looks at her watch. "Shit, I'm late for work… Do you think you could call again tomorrow and see if he'd talk to me then?"

            I nod. "Sure. But you know how Roger can be…"

            "I know," she says quietly. "But he can't stay mad at me forever."

            I don't say anything because I don't think Roger is mad at Mimi at all. But I'm not about to tell her what it really is about so I just nod as she gathers up her things and walks out the door.

            I haven't seen Roger all week and it's been killing me because I know he thinks I'm mad at him. It takes everything I have not to pick up the phone and call him or visit him at the hospital. But I know I can't do that, I have to give him time to figure things out…just like I'd needed time to figure out what my feelings for him were. 

            In the time that we've been apart, I've come to the realization that I really _am_ in love with Roger. And I know that he has some feelings for me too. Maybe not the love that I have for him but the feelings are there, nonetheless. If they weren't, that kiss wouldn't have been as amazing as it was, he wouldn't have kissed me back, and he wouldn't have leaned in to kiss me again.

*~3 Days Later~*

            I'm awaken, early in the morning, by the ringing of the phone and I jump up to answer it, thinking at first that it might be Roger. I have to remind myself that it couldn't be Roger since he's not allowed to make outgoing calls.

            I pick it up and yawn, rubbing my eyes.

"Hello?" I say sleepily into the receiver.

            "Hi, Mark. This is Dr. Greene from the hospital."

            "Oh hi. How's Roger doing?"

            "Well, this morning the courts and his psychiatrist reviewed his case and the decision was that he should stay in the hospital for another two months before he will be considered to go home again. In the time that he's been here, he's only gotten worse, and to be honest with you, I don't know what to do with him anymore. I weighed him two days ago and he lost another three pounds so we gave him another throat tube since he won't eat on his own and he can't keep losing weight like this. He just won't eat, no matter what anyone says or does and, to tell you the truth, at this point his chance for recovery doesn't look hopeful."

            Oh God, that's it, I can't not visit him anymore! I don't care about him needing time to figure things out, I just want to see my best friend! I quickly thank Dr. Greene for his call and then run out of the loft to the hospital.

            As I make my way down the busy streets of New York, I think about what the doctor said about Roger's chance for recovery not looking good at this point. I know that's not true. I know Roger can do this, he just needs help. Help that he hasn't been getting because I haven't been there for him. But I swear, no matter what feelings I may have for him, or he has for me, I won't ever let them interfere again. I don't care if he loves me anymore, all I care about is him getting better and returning to the old Roger I used to know, before anorexia, OCD, and phobias.

Roger POV:

            _I love you Roger…and I swear, I won't leave you, you'll see. Give me a chance…_

            I wake up suddenly and sit up, trying to push the dream out of my mind. It was another dream about him…about Mark. It's always the same dream too. Mark and I are back at the loft and things are perfect. I'm not skinny anymore, and Mark is holding me, promising that he loves me and that he'll never ever leave me, that he'll be with me for my entire life.

            Okay, so maybe I _do_ have some feelings for him. But that doesn't mean I'm about to get into a relationship with him, just because we both want it to happen. Because real life isn't like dreams. In real life I'm skinny and in the hospital. In real life Mark _would_ leave me, because that's what happens when two people fall in love. Love doesn't last forever. Eventually, everyone falls out of love, and if Mark and I decided to pursue this relationship, when we fell out of love it would end us. But not just as lovers. As friends, as roommates…everything. And I can't let that happen to me and Mark. My friendship with him means too much to me to ruin it for love, something I don't even believe in.

            I lie down on my pillow again and close my eyes, trying to forget the dream because I know nothing that perfect could ever happen in real life. But I sit up again and open my eyes when I hear someone enter my room. I'm expecting it to be Dr. Greene or some bitchy nurse coming in with the breakfast they know I won't eat so I'm kind of shocked when I see Mark standing in my doorway.

            "Can I come in?"

            I shrug. "Do whatever you want." I can't help the anger that seeps through in my voice. I _am_ mad. I'm sick of him doing this to me, promising he'll be with me and help me through everything and then the next minute he's gone and I don't hear from him for another two weeks. I know he has a right to be mad at me but still… I can't help but be angry.

            He comes in my room and hesitantly sits next to me in the chair beside my bed.

            "Did you have breakfast yet?" he asks.

            I give him a look as if to say, "Does that question even need to be answered?"

            He sighs. "That's what I thought."

            "Mark, why are you here? Because if you're going to sit here for the next three hours and help me and tell you love me and kiss me, and then leave and not show your face for the next two weeks, don't bother making yourself comfortable 'cause I don't want your help _that_ badly."

            "But you do want my help?"

            I glare at him. "Don't try to change the subject."

            He sighs. "Okay Rog, I get the point. I'm sorry. I wasn't mad at you… I just, well we just needed to be apart to figure things out."

            I roll my eyes and pretend not to know what he's talking about. "And so did you figure things out?"

            "Yes…but you already know that. Did _you_?"

            I shift uncomfortably and don't say anything for a second. "I… That's not what this is about!"

            "Okay then, what is it about?"

            "It's about how just left me here alone and didn't even call or try to get in touch with me at all! You know you're my only contact with the outside world!" I try to avoid saying how I really feel, how much I've missed him and thought about him. I don't want to show him my vulnerable side…and I don't want him to know just how much he's been on my mind lately.

            "I'm really sorry Roger. You don't know how badly I feel about it, I was just doing what I thought would be best…but obviously I was wrong and I'm sorry."

            I sigh and play with my sheets, not looking up at him in fear that he might recognize my true feelings if he saw my face. "It's fine. Just…just don't do it again, okay?"

            Out of the corner of my eye I see him nod. "I won't, I swear." He pauses. " Now can _you_ promise me something?"

            I hesitate for a second, afraid of what it may be. "What?"

            "Promise me that you'll start eating again, or at least try to. Promise that you'll try to get better."

            I don't say anything, refusing to agree to that. I just can't do it, not yet.

            After a long pause he finally says, "Roger, why haven't you been eating?"

            I sigh. "I've just had a lot of things on my mind."

            "Like what?"

            I don't answer. I will not tell him about the kind of thoughts I've been having…about how I've thought of him and nothing else since the first time he told me he loved me.

            "Roger?" he asks, tearing me away from my thoughts. "Have you been thinking about…us?"

            When I don't say anything he continues. "Because I have."

            Finally I decide that there's no use trying to hide how I feel anymore. He's already seen through me, he already knows the truth so I may as well give in. But my mouth can't form the words so I just nod. Yes Mark, I have been thinking about "us." That's all I can ever think about anymore, it even takes over my dreams when I sleep.

            "Roger," he says softly. "What have you been thinking?"

            "Just that…that it could never work out. You and me."

            "So are you saying that you've considered giving it a try?"

            "I…yeah, I don't know, maybe. But Mark, you know it would never work out, right? It wouldn't, it would ruin our friendship and we can't let that happen." I hope he believes that and doesn't see through to the other part of me that's too scared of love and commitment to ever get into a serious relationship. Too scared to let anyone into my heart because I know if I did, they would rip it apart from the inside and leave me, broken-hearted in the end.

Mark POV:

            I don't say anything for a moment, trying to decode his "Roger talk" to find out what he's really trying to say…or what not to say. I finally interpret his words to mean that he has feelings for me also but is unwilling to attempt a relationship because he's scared I'll leave him. I smile to myself. After years of living with Roger I've learned to read his every thought and feeling, just from looking at his eyes and the expression on his face. He doesn't know just how much I understand him, how much I know about him just from his expression. He thinks his thoughts are so hidden, so secret, but in reality, they're written plainly across his face, as easy to read as a book, if you knew how.

            "Roger, why do you think it wouldn't work out?" 

            "Because no relationship _ever_ works out for me! Lets face it, I'm not meant to be in love! Relationships. Just. Don't. Work. Out. For. Me."

            "Well, maybe that's just because you haven't been in the right one yet."

            "Still… You and me – this friendship – it's all I have. I don't want to ruin it for some stupid infatuation. If we did decide to do something about this, do you know what the chances are that we'd just lose everything in the end?"

            "I'd say the chances are pretty slim. Because this isn't just some 'stupid infatuation.' I love you, and I know that you love me, even if you won't admit it. If anything, I think this would just make our friendship stronger."

            "No, it wouldn't work like that. There's no way you, or anyone for that matter, could put up with me in a relationship. You know what I'm like Mark, I'm the most problematic person on the face of the earth. I mean, look at me! I can't even eat! You would get fed up, it's just too much for a person to handle."

            "Roger, look at me." I cup his chin in my hand and force him to look up at me. "Have I left you so far? Haven't I been with you through everything? Withdrawal, AIDS, April's suicide… I've already seen you at your worst and believe me, I'm not going to leave you. So what if you can't eat now? I'll help you eat. I'll help you drink and take your AZT, just like I always have in the past. I love you and I'll help you through whatever problems may arise."

            I can see the emotions battling in his eyes, going from hope to, to fear, to doubt, and back again. Finally, as a last ditch effort, I pull his face to mine and kiss him softly on the lips.

            At first he is shocked and stares at me, wide-eyed, and just sits there, unsure of what to do. But gradually, I feel him begin to relax and he kisses me back, hesitantly leaning down and wrapping one arm around my neck, squeezing it gently, while letting the other hand get lost in my hair.

            I wrap my own arms around him and deepen the kiss, not wanting it to ever end. This is what I was put on the earth to do, I have found my meaning in life. Nothing has ever felt like this before, I cannot believe for the life of me that a kiss can feel so amazing and right.

            Suddenly though, I feel him pull away and I begin to panic. What if he didn't feel the same way I had? What if he's even more freaked out now and just runs away? "Roger, don't…"

            He smiles and brings a finger up to my lips to hush me. "Shh. It's 8:00, breakfast is coming."

            I kiss his finger lightly and draw his hand into my own. "Does this mean you'll give 'us' a try?"

            He seems to hesitate for a second but then nods slightly, obviously still nervous that I'll leave him and that it will ruin our friendship.

            I smile brightly and kiss his hand, still entwined in my own. "You won't regret this Rog, you'll see. I'm not going to leave you."

He nods, and then as if to reassure me that this is actually happening, he gives my hand a small squeeze before dropping it quickly when he sees a nurse come in with a breakfast tray.

He immediately gets a look of terror in his eyes as the nurse places the tray in front of him and walks out. He stares sullenly at his hands that are clenched together in his lap, as if to try and stop the trembling.

            "Roger," I say soothingly, "it's okay. Don't worry…"

            I look at him for permission before crawling beside him on his bed and hold him close, to calm him down. Finally, after most of the shaking subsides, I say, "Do you think you could eat just a little if I helped you?"

            He doesn't say anything and he's sitting so still that I wonder if he even heard me.

            "Roger? Are you okay?"

            Finally, he comes out of his daze and says, "I…I don't think I can."

            "Yes you can," I say firmly.

            He shakes his head. "No, too much has happened today, I can't do it now, I will tomorrow."

            "No, Rog. Tomorrow never seems to come for you. You have to do it now or you'll never be able to do it."

            Before he has a chance to respond, I take the fork from the side of his plate, scoop some eggs on it, and bring it up to his lips.

            He pushes my hand away though and glares at me.

            "I'm not a baby."

            "Fine then," I say and put the fork down, knowing that he's not able to do it by himself just yet. "Do it on your own."

            He stares at the utensil for a few seconds and then shifts his gaze to the eggs on his plate, but doesn't move.

            "Will you let me help you now?"

            Suddenly, he startles me by grabbing me by the shoulders and clings onto me as he sobs into my chest.

            "I can't do it, I can't… Don't make me do this, please…"

            Somehow I don't think this is a panic attack. He's expressing need for once, and though I'm glad that he's revealing this side of himself that he rarely lets show, it tears at my heart to see him like this. I hug him and try to calm him down, suddenly feeling like his mother as I rub his back and hold him while he clings onto me and cries.

            "It's okay Roger, you only have to eat a little."

            I keep whispering to him and hugging him until he calms down a little, just enough to be embarrassed at expressing need and showing his vulnerability. He pulls away from me and hastily wipes the tears off his face.

            "Are you okay?"

            When he doesn't answer I say, "Can you try to eat just a little bit?"

            Again, he doesn't respond. Well, not with words anyway. But when I mention the word "eat" he tenses up and tears begin to form in his eyes again. When they begin to escape his eyes and slide down his cheeks, I decide to do something that I know will distract him from the unimaginable terror of eating.

            I lean closer to him and kiss the tears off his face, then kiss him once, softly, on the lips. His mouth tastes salty, probably from the tears, and it's all I can do not to deepen the kiss, but I know now's not the time for that so I pull away and hold out the fork to him again.

            "You don't have to eat a lot, just whatever you can, okay?"

            He nods slowly but makes no movement to pick up the fork. So I pick it up for him instead and bring the food to his mouth as he takes little nibblets, unable to put the whole thing in his mouth at once.

            Finally, after an hour of tears, pleas, yelling, and begging, he has finished just under half of the small amount of eggs on his plate.

            "I'm done, Mark. I can't eat anymore."

            I nod. He barely ate anything but at least it's progress. And I'm not leaving his side so I can make sure it stays in his system this time.

            I can see the look of pain on his face and I know that the tiny amount of food in his stomach is hurting him. So, to distract him from the pain, I give him another soft kiss on the lips and whisper, "I'm proud of you."

            I'm about to pull away when suddenly, he grabs the back of my head and pulls me forward again, his lips meeting my own with urgency.

            It may have been hours, minutes, or even seconds later when we finally break apart, panting heavily. But I have no concept of time right now, so I don't know for sure. I wasn't aware of anything except the feel of his lips on my own and the emotions and sensations that he was creating in my mouth. I shiver now, just from the thought.

            The memory is forgotten though as Dr. Greene walks in the room to see how Roger's doing on breakfast.

            "Hello Mark, it's nice to see you again." He smiles at me and then turns to Roger, inspecting his plate. He looks surprised, but happy, when he sees that Roger ate a portion of his eggs.

            "I'm glad to see that you decided to eat, Roger."

            He writes something down on the clipboard in his hands and then walks out of the room to check up on his other patients.


	10. Just Once More

Roger POV:

            It's been two weeks since Mark and I decided to give our relationship a try. He's visited every day since then and ate with me at every meal. Last week, Fiona had a friend visit her during lunch and the friend ate her meal so Fiona wouldn't get in trouble for not eating. But one of the nurses found out about it so now there's a new policy that you're not allowed to have visitors at meal times.

            At first the staff tried to tell Mark that he wasn't allowed to eat with me, but they finally gave in when they realized that him being there was helping me, and that I couldn't eat by myself anyway. I don't think they're still suspicious that Mark's eating all my food because I've been gaining weight and have even started drinking by myself.

            Last week the doctors took me off one of my tubes since I started eating and they said I didn't need it anymore. I still can't eat a lot though because my stomach is still getting used to having food in it again and it really does hurt, and because I still have panic attacks a lot after I eat. But not as many as I used to have and not as bad. I can only manage about two meals a day and I only eat a portion of those. But that's still a huge accomplishment for me. Because before that I couldn't eat anything, ever.

            Mark and I are taking things very slowly, and I'm glad for that. I think we're both still getting used to this and I know it's still a little weird for both of us. But not a bad weird. It's just that we never expected to be with another man, and certainly not each other.

            Speaking of Mark, he should be here by now. He's not allowed to eat his lunch in the room with me so he usually goes down to the cafeteria and grabs a bite there and then comes back up to help me through my own lunch.

            I can hear the meal cart in the hall and soon after, a nurse comes in my room and places my lunch in front of me. I start to get worried, Mark's usually always here before my meals get here. What if he got freaked out and left me again? What if he just couldn't take this anymore and went back to the loft?  
            I try to push those thoughts out of my mind, assuring myself that it's probably nothing. He probably just got stuck on a long line in the cafeteria or something.

            I stare at the pasta on my plate and begin to arrange and rearrange it, something I do whenever I'm anxious or worried about something. Though, in the past two weeks I haven't done it because Mark is constantly over my shoulder, watching every move I make to make sure that I'm not tricking him like I did at the loft or obsessively organizing my food. Like I'm doing now.

            I sigh and glance down at the art I've turned my lunch into. For months now, I haven't been able to eat by myself. I've had to rely on Mark to either help me or do it for me. But I know I can't do that forever, eventually I'm going to have to learn how to eat by myself. So, I pick up my fork hesitantly, deciding that since Mark isn't here, now would be a good a time as any to learn how again.

            I hold the plastic fork in my hands for a few seconds, listening to the voices battle in my head. Lately, I've developed a new set of voices – good ones – that fight the ones that tell me I'm bad and that I don't deserve food or water or anything except pain.

            Finally, I just drive the fork into the food without thinking, because I know if I think about it, I'll never be able to do it. Trying to ignore the battling voices in the back of my mind, I hesitantly bring the utensil to my mouth, part my lips, and put the food inside.

            There. That wasn't so bad. Now if only I could swallow…

            For some reason, I just can't bring myself to do it. I got the food inside my mouth but I just can't get it down my throat. Finally, I just give up and spit it into my napkin. I never have a problem swallowing when Mark is here. But then again, it's usually him who gets the food into my mouth in the first place.  Maybe it's just too much too soon. Maybe I should start out smaller.

            I pick up the fork again, but this time only put a tiny amount of food on it as I bring it to my lips and put it in my mouth. There, that's better. Not quite as terrifying and impossible as the last time.

            After a few seconds of listening to both sides of the conversation in my head, I decide to go with the positive one and I manage to swallow the tiny amount of food.

            Yes! I did it! I ate BY MYSELF for the first time in months!! I can't wait 'til Mark gets here so I can tell him!

            Elated, I try it again, this time putting a bit more food on my fork, and I somehow manage to swallow again. I'm a nervous wreck and I'm shaking all over but I'm grinning widely because I did the impossible: I ATE FOOD!!!

            Suddenly Mark comes rushing into my room, his face flushed and sweating.

            "I'm sorry I'm late, I was talking to Dr. Greene and…" He stops when he sees the huge smile on my face. "Why do you look so happy?"

            I open my mouth to scream in excitement what I'm so happy about but close it again because I know he'd never believe me. So instead, I pick up the fork and eat by myself _again_ for the third time in one day. "I did it, I ate!!"

            He starts grinning widely too and he runs over to me.

            "Oh my God, Rog, that's great! See? I told you you could do it!"

            He hugs me and gives me a soft, little reward kiss. "Now you don't need me to help you anymore," he says as he strokes my hair.

            I pout and pull away from him. I liked how he held me at every meal, it made me feel safe, like nothing that terrible could happen as long as I was in his arms

            He frowns. "What's wrong?"

            "I still want your…help." I smile a little.

            He laughs and crawls into my bed beside me, wrapping his arms around me. But this time he doesn't take the fork and put the food in my mouth… I do it myself.

            After I finish all I can of the meal, I try to distract myself from the terror I'm starting to feel by starting up a conversation with Mark.

            "So what were you talking to Dr. Greene about?"

            "Oh yeah." He smiles again and I can tell that, for once, he has some good news. "He said you gained five pounds and since you're eating every day now, they're going to take out your other throat tube. And you're also allowed to get visitors and make phone calls again!"

            I nod and try to smile, but can't get any words out of my throat because of the panic and terror now rising in it.

            He looks at me and frowns. "Are you okay Roger?"

            I don't answer, too focused on how full my stomach feels. And knowing that I did that on my own just makes it that much worse.

            He seems to know what's coming and by this point, he knows exactly what to do to get me through this. He holds me close to him, trying to make me feel safe and secure, and when my hands start shaking he holds onto them tightly.

            This panic attack seems particularly bad and lasts longer than that any have in a long time. But finally, I can feel myself begin to calm down a little and Mark senses it too. He wraps his arms around me and kisses my sweaty forehead.

            "Are you okay Roger?"

            I nod and he kisses me again, but this time I don't let him pull away. His lips on mine are distracting me from everything else…from the pain, from the terror, from everything. All I can focus on is the feel of his soft lips pressed against my own and I relax, the fear slowly leaving my body as he deepens the kiss. I'm so wrapped up in the kiss that I don't even realize when someone walks in the room before it's too late.

            "Oh my God!"

            I pull away from Mark quickly and turn to face Mimi, who's standing in the doorway with a look of horrified shock on her face.

            "Mimi!" I exclaim and push Mark away from me. "W-what are you doing here?"

            She just stands there, gaping at me. "I came to visit you. I felt bad and I was going to apologize but I guess there's no need for that now! Looks like you've found yourself someone else."

            "Mimi, it's not-"

            She cuts me off. "No, save your breath Roger. I get it. The second I walk away you turn to another man. I'll be seeing ya."

            She turns around angrily and storms out the door. I jump up to run after her but Mark pushes me back down.

            "No Rog, give her a chance to calm down."

            "Mark, no, she…"

            "Roger," he says again. "What can we do about it now? You're not allowed off the unit and she's probably half way home already."

            I sigh, knowing he's probably right. There's nothing I can do about it right now. But as soon as I got out of this freakin' Goddamn hospital I'm going right to her apartment to explain about me and Mark. I was going to tell her about us eventually, I just wish she hadn't found out the way she had…

Mimi POV:

            As soon as I'm out of the hospital and walking on the streets, I feel my eyes well up with tears and I brush them away angrily. I can't believe it… Roger and Mark. Together. Making out.

            The image is still burning in my brain and hard as I try, I can't seem to make it to go away. I can't believe Roger would turn that quickly to another man the second I was out of the picture. And I can't believe Mark! He had spent the past two weeks consoling me, telling me that Roger wasn't mad and assuring me things would be fine… I can't believe that he was keeping the fact that he and Roger were a COUPLE to himself! No wonder Roger sounded so weird on the phone that night. All he could talk about was Mark. 

"Is Mark there with you?"  "Did he want to talk to me?"  "Does he still live in the loft?"

            He didn't want to talk to me at all, and then when he decided that he didn't want to talk to Mark, he wouldn't accept my phone calls at all!

            But as mad as I am at them I can't help but also feel a little bit guilty. If I hadn't dumped Roger, he never would have turned to Mark… Oh my God. The realization that I turned Roger gay hits me with sudden force and I stop fighting my tears and let them fall freely down my cheeks.

            Suddenly I find myself standing in the middle of St. Mark's Place. I don't even know how I got here, I didn't mean to, my intention had been to go back home and sulk in my apartment. 

I see a dark figure approach me, his face shrouded by the shadow of the hood that covers most of his face. Maybe my coming here wasn't so unintentional after all, I think to myself.

            For the past few weeks, ever since I had found out about Roger and dumped him, I had been using again. Only a little though, not like I used to when I was a junkie. Just once or twice a week, to take away the guilt I felt and the fear and uncertainty that Roger might not ever be able to fully recover from his disorder.

            "Well well well…what do we have here? How much you want?"

            I sigh and shove my hand in my pocket, pulling out a few crumpled bills. Just once more, I think to myself. This will be the last time…


	11. I love Him, I Love Him Not

A/N: Yes, ff.net is *finally* letting me upload again! Anyway, hope you like it, please review!

Mark POV:

            I stand in the doorway of Roger's room at the hospital and watch him pack his things. After three months of being in the hospital, the courts finally decided that he would be allowed to come home today. Since he's been here he's gained 15 pounds, putting him at 127. He's still way too skinny but he looks a lot better than he did a few months ago.

            Even though Roger's allowed to leave the hospital, he's still not completely better. He still can't eat entirely on his own. He can do the physical part by himself but he needs someone there to calm him down and help him get through the process. He also still has panic attacks a lot of times after he eats, though not nearly as many as he used to and not as bad or long lasting. Overall, I'd say he's doing pretty good but still has a long way to go. But he's getting there, and I'm going to make sure that nothing gets in the way of his recovery this time.

            He finally finishes packing his things and we make our way downstairs to the front desk to check him out. Once he's all signed out and the papers have been filled out and signed, we walk outside and he starts walking down the street.

            "Roger?"

            He stops walking and turns around. "Yeah?"

            "Um, I think we should get a cab…"

            "Why?"

            "It's six blocks from here to the loft. Do you think you can make it that far?"

            He sighs and shakes his head slowly, much to my surprise since Roger's not one to admit when he needs help. Even though he's gained weight and is eating better, he's still pretty weak. And while he can walk on his own now without getting dizzy, he can only manage so much. Plus he's just come out of the hospital where he's been for three months, mostly sitting or staying in bed since, at first, he was too weak to do much of anything else. So I stop the first taxi I see and I help Roger with his bags as we both get in.

            About two blocks from the loft I lean forward and say to the driver, "Can you stop here?"

            Roger looks at me curiously. "Why are we stopping here?"

            "We need food, I haven't been shopping in weeks since I've been eating mostly in the hospital."

            He nods slowly and I can tell he's scared to go in a place filled, wall-to-wall, with food.

            When we're out of the cab we walk down the block to the Food Emporium.

            "You can wait outside if you want, Rog," I say, sensing his anxiety.

            He pauses for a second and then shakes his head. "No, I'll come in. I'll have to do it eventually anyway."

            I smile happily, still not quite believing that Roger would face his fear like this, but don't protest or object to it. We walk in and he hesitates for a second before following me down the dairy aisle.

            Finally, when I have all the food that I've been meaning to buy for weeks, we go to the front of the store to pay and that's when I notice that Roger's beginning to tremble a little.

            "Are you okay?" I whisper, not wanting to call attention to him.

            He nods but I can tell he's not and I know that if I don't do something this could lead to a full blown panic attack. I put the food I had been carrying on the counter and tell the girl at the register to hold it for me and take Roger's arm and pull him to the back of the store with me.

            "Roger, are you okay?"

            He doesn't answer and I begin to wonder if bringing Roger in a grocery store was the best idea. I look down and notice that his hands are shaking so I take them in mine and hold them firmly, trying to help him calm down.

            People pass by, giving us odd looks but, right now, I don't care. I just want to make sure that Roger's okay. But apparently, Roger _does_ care because he steps away from me and looks down at the floor.

            "Roger," I begin but he won't look at me.

            I sigh. He's still so scared of people finding out about us. I guess I can't blame him after the way Mimi reacted, but still. That was his girlfriend - or, technically ex girlfriend - so you can't expect her to be happy about the fact that he suddenly started dating another man right after the break up. 

Sometimes though, I wonder if it's just the fact of people finding out that scares him. Sometimes it seems like he doesn't want to be with me at all, and other times he's all over me. I can't keep up with his back and forth –"I love him, I love him not" – crap. It has me running in circles, I don't know what to think anymore. I guess I know, though, that the reason he's like that is because he's still scared of commitment. He still thinks I'll leave him – God only knows why. I've stuck with him this far and don't plan on leaving any time soon. But try convincing Roger that.

            He seems to sense my thoughts and takes my hand lightly in his, squeezing it gently when no one's looking. When I look up I notice that most of the tension has left his face and he's even smiling slightly.

            I tentatively smile in return and he surprises me by walking back to the register with me hand-in-hand. There are a few people who give us sideway glances but either Roger doesn't notice, or doesn't care, because he doesn't drop my hand until we get onto the street and I need both my hands to carry groceries.

            "You know you're eating when we get home, right?" I say when we're about one block away from the loft.

            He nods slowly.  "Yeah, I know. I just, I don't know, I want to talk to Mimi first."

            I look at him nervously, wondering if he's going to go back to her but he just looks at me and laughs.

            "Don't worry. I just want to explain about us, I don't want to leave things off with her the way I did. I just…I feel bad, ya know?"

            I nod. "Yeah. I know what you mean, I didn't want her to find out the way she did."

            He chuckles.  "Well, walking in on your boyfriend making out with another man isn't exactly the best way to break the news."

            "You're right about that," I say and can't help but laugh.

            When we get to the loft, Roger collapses on the couch, panting heavily.

            "Are you okay, Rog?"

            He nods and takes a few minutes to catch his breath. He's still pretty weak and not in great condition and it hurts me to see him like this.

            "Do you want something to eat now?"

            He shakes his head.  "No. Not just yet."

            "Roger," I begin but he cuts me off.

            "I know Mark, I'm going to eat something. I just want to talk to Mimi first so I don't go crazy on her or anything or have a panic attack in her apartment while I'm trying to explain to her that I don't love her as anything more than a friend anymore, and that I'm in love with you. I don't think that would go over too well."

            I just nod, too shocked to say anything else. This is the first time he's ever come right out and said out loud that he's in love with me. I'm not even sure if he realizes what he said or not, but judging from the smile on his face, I think that he does. I guess that was his way of letting me know.

            I smile too and he leans down and kisses me on the lips, what I'm sure was meant to be a short "goodbye" kiss, but I can't help but deepen it and we just stand there for a few minutes, making out, trying to get everything out of this moment that we can.

            Finally he pulls away and smiles again.

            "I really do have to go now," he says and kisses me once more on the cheek before slipping out the door and going down to Mimi's apartment.

Roger POV:

            I knock once on Mimi's door and try to cover any signs of what I had just been doing. Wouldn't be the best thing for Mimi to notice right now. I realize that, for once, I don't have to worry about having lipstick on my lips and smile, taking note of yet another great thing about my relationship with Mark. Another thing to add to the ever-growing list of  "things I love about dating Mark."

            I frown when Mimi doesn't come to the door and I knock again, louder this time.

            I hear some stumbling in the apartment and a loud crash and "SHIT!!!!" before she finally opens the door.

            I gasp when I see her. She looks...well, she looks like hell. She looks like she hasn't showered in days, her hair is a wreck, and the dirty clothes she's wearing look like they've been on her for quite a while now.

            "Mimi?"

            She just stares at me with lifeless eyes, not saying anything, not even moving.

            "Um...can I come in?"

            She continues to just stare at me for several seconds and then finally shakes her head back and forth. But the movement seems to make her dizzy and she falls forward into my arms. It's then that I realize what's wrong with her.

            "Mimi...are you shooting up again?"

            She pulls away from me quickly and turns around, shaking her head again.

            Yes she is. She's forgetting that I've been there too, I know how it is and I know the signs.  "Okay… Can I come in then?"

            She speaks for the first time since I've been here. "No Roger, just go away. Go back to your boyfriend. Leave me again, just like you did last time."

            "Mimi... I didn't leave you. You broke up with me and I..." I sigh, really not wanting to have this conversation in the hall. "Listen, can I please come in so we can talk about this?"

            "What is there to talk about?!" she screams. "You decided that you didn't like fucking women anymore, and now you're fucking that faggot upstairs! What the fuck is there to talk about?!"

            I feel fury rising up inside me and I try not to yell, try to tell myself that she's high and that's the reason she's saying these things but I can't help it, what she said was just too low.

            "Fine then! You know, I came down here to apologize to you! I felt bad about the way things turned about. But you know what? Fuck that and fuck you! I don't need you in my life, I have that 'faggot' now!"

            "Well that's what you are!" She slurs, but it's too late, I'm already down the stairs.

Mimi POV: 

            I see Roger's figure running down the stairs and out of the loft and can't believe what I just said. For months I'd been waiting for this, waiting for him to come home and come back to me, and what do I do? I fuck things up as usual. The reality of the situation hits me hard and I begin to feel the heroin wearing off.

            I watch Roger run down the street from my window and whisper to myself, "I lost him." 

            Probably for good this time too, after what I'd just said to him. I wouldn't blame him if he never wanted to speak to me again. _I never even want to speak to me again!_

            I lost everything...my job, Roger, even Benny! Yes, even Benny never wants to speak to me again! He said he couldn't love me anymore when my heart belonged to someone else. And the funny thing is, that "someone" isn't Roger. Maybe it used to be, but not anymore. No, now my heart belongs to the same thing that held it years ago: heroin. And this time I'm not going to let it go. It's the only thing that can make me feel good anymore. It's the only thing that can make me _feel anymore._

            My hands begin to shake and I can feel the familiar waves of nausea churning in my stomach and I dig through my dresser drawer, where I keep my needle and stash. Relief floods over me when I see that I have plenty left, enough for four hits, maybe even five.

            I get free smack now from The Man. Well, almost free. The only thing I have to sell is my body and that doesn't matter anymore. Nothing does except making sure that I have enough smack to keep me going for quite a while.

            I begin slapping my arm for a vein, but that's a hard task now that most of them are collapsed. Finally I find one and fill the syringe with the melted white powder and push down on the tip, sighing in relief as I feel the drug filling my veins and coursing through my body.

            There. That's better. The thoughts of Roger and Mark and Benny slowly slip from my mind as the heroin takes over, putting me in that happy, fuzzy state that I've grown so accustomed to lately.

            But, I think to myself before I'm completely gone, what if I could stay in that state forever? Until I die? What if I died...today? Then there'd be no more problems at all... No more sleeping with The Man for smack and money, for food and heat, no more worrying about Roger, no more job hunts, no more rent to pay to my ex-lover landlord, no more...anything. Hey, no day but today right?

            All of a sudden, this plan is beginning to sound very good to me and I begin to melt the rest of the powder I have left, preparing myself to hit that drugged, happy state that is getting harder and harder to reach as the days go by, preparing myself for the end of all my problems and worries, preparing for the end of my life...

Roger POV:

            I race down the street, despite the weakness in my legs and upper-body, trying to get as far away as I can from the loft, from Mimi, from Mark, from everything. Everything had been going so well for a while. Me and Mark were doing really well, I was very much enjoying our new relationship, I was getting better, eating on my own, going home to the loft, and then BAM! Everything blows up in my face again.

            Mimi's using, I can't even recognize her anymore. The Mimi I know would never have said such things to me...about me. And now I'm not even sure about me and Mark anymore! I mean, yeah I love him and yeah, things are going great... but at what price is this relationship going to come at? If Mimi's reaction today was anything at all like what other people's would be, I'm not even sure if it's worth it.

            I've tried to shove the fact that I _know _Mark will leave me to the back of my mind, but it's always been there and now it's screaming to me things I already know and have known since the beginning. Mark will leave me, he'll get fed up, he'll break my heart, people wouldn't understand, I have to keep up my "image"...

            But then there's this other voice fighting it, a weaker voice maybe, but there nonetheless. And that one's saying that I shouldn't care what people think, my "image" wouldn't be ruined by being gay, that he won't break my heart or leave me, that Mark is "the one", my soul mate...

            DAMMIT!!! Everything is too confusing, overwhelming me. I run top speed down the sidewalk, to nowhere in particular, just trying to escape from Mark and Mimi and the voices in my head.

            Finally I spot a small park across the street and suddenly notice how much my legs are aching, and how winded I am. I stop running and cross the street, sitting in a shady spot underneath some trees, and decide to think things through before making some hasty decision and making another huge mistake.

            Okay. I sigh and go over everything in my head. Thinking isn't my thing. I've always been one to numb things out, the one to avoid my problems at any cost...drugs, booze, starvation... But dammit, I can't do that anymore! Because it's gotten me nowhere except a heroin addiction, the AIDS virus, anorexia and obsessive-compulsive disorder.

            I sigh again and try to sort things out, this whole "dealing with my problems" concept still a little new to me.

            Problem number 1, and perhaps the worst of them all: Mimi's using again. And from the looks of her, she's pretty far gone too. I can't help but feel guilty about that. Maybe if she hadn't walked in and me and Mark that time when we were making out, maybe if I hadn't even gotten together with Mark in the first place, none of this would have happened.

            Which leads me to Problem number 2: Mark. What do I do about him? I love him, yeah, and he loves me. And that's really all that should matter, right?

            Wrong. I know things can't be as simple as that. There are other things to take into consideration: Mimi and her drug habits, my image and my band, our friendship, my parents, my friends, the fact that he could just leave and walk out on me at any time...there's just so much at stake.

            Is all the good I'm feeling now - all the "rightness" and the feeling that I've found my soul mate - worth all the consequences that are sure to come of this relationship?

            I sigh and decide to focus on the bigger (and less confusing) of my problems right now. What to do about Mimi. Well, the first thing to do is apologize for acting like such an asshole before. I know she didn't mean what she said, and I should know that best of all. I know that people aren't thinking rationally when they're as wasted as she was. The things they say can't be taken seriously and yet, being the bastard that I am, I took her words and threw them right back in her face. Which probably just got her more upset and caused her to shoot up again. Oh God, I can only imagine what she's doing right now…

            I stand up quickly and begin running back to the loft, to Mimi, so I can stop her before she does anything worse to herself... if that's at all possible.

            I run the entire way, despite the feeling that I'm about to pass out any second, and race up the stairs to her apartment. I knock on the door loudly.

            "Mimi!"

            There's no answer.

            I knock again. "Mimi, let me in! I'm sorry about what I said before, I didn't mean it!"

            Still silence. I have a bad feeling in my stomach and I turn the doorknob, praying that it's not locked.

            It's not, and I push the door open all the way but I almost wish it had been locked. I wish I hadn't come back here at all, wish I hadn't come to talk to her in the first place, I even wish I was back in the hospital so none of this would be happening at all. My stomach turns to ice, my entire body is overtaken by shock and guilt and fear as I stand there, paralyzed, and take in the sight before me.

Mark POV:

            I look at my watch for the millionth time tonight and frown. It's 10:00 and Roger still hasn't come back from Mimi's yet. He left at noon and I'm really starting to worry. I called Mimi's apartment about two hours ago but there was no answer.

            I'm hoping that they just went out to talk somewhere and still aren't back. Roger's not the only one who's worried about our relationship. I worry all the time that Roger will get scared and leave me like a few years ago when he went to Santa Fe. I sometimes doubt that he even loves me at all.

            It's always back and forth with him. One minute, like today in the grocery store, he's afraid to even touch me, and then the next he's kissing me and making me believe that he really does love me.

            But…he _did_ say he's in love with me. And that's a big thing for Roger to say. I just have to stop worrying about this so much, I have to have faith that he won't leave me, just like I won't leave him.

            Once I finally get that thought out of my head, another, more frightening one enters in its place. What if something happened to Roger? He probably hasn't eaten since this morning in the hospital…What if he passed out? Or had a panic attack somewhere?

            I try to calm down, telling myself that he's probably fine. Maybe he just went out to dinner with Mimi or something. Yeah right.

            I sigh and decide that since there's nothing I can do about it now I might as well just go to bed and pray that he'll be back by the time I wake up.

            I drift into an uneasy sleep, filled with dreams about Roger and every sort of terrible thing that could have happened to him. Finally, at about 8:00 the next morning I give up and walk sleepily into Roger's room, praying that I'll find him asleep in his bed, safe and sound.

            But, no, his bed is empty and looks like it hasn't been slept in at all. I check the kitchen and living room (Which, technically are the same place) just to be sure and then quickly get dressed and throw on a coat, deciding I just can't sit around anymore worrying. Just as I'm about to walk out the door though, Roger comes stumbling in, looking like a wreck. His face is red and tear-stained, his hair is a mess, and the dark bags under his eyes indicate that he hasn't slept all night.


	12. Goodbye Love

Roger POV:

            After the ambulance takes Mimi away and I talk to the police, I wander around the streets, not really going anywhere, just walking and thinking. Thinking about Mimi, thinking about April, about Mark…about every relationship I've ever had in my life.

            Everyone I've ever been with has left me, if not by leaving my sorry ass for some other guy, than by dying. And Mimi is another perfect example. Lets face it, relationships just don't last forever. They never do, not for anybody.

            Maybe I didn't love Mimi as a girlfriend anymore, like I used to, but I still loved her as a friend. A very close friend. And now she's gone, just like everybody else…another one lost to suicide!

            When I think about her I start crying again and collapse in front of a McDonalds, trying to pull myself together. People pass me, giving me strange looks, and a few stop to ask if I'm okay but I don't care and I don't respond.

            After a about a half hour of crying and feeling sorry for myself and for Mimi, I realize it's beginning to get dark out. I look at my watch and am shocked to see that it's already 9:00. Mark must be worried sick, I'm surprised he hasn't called out a search team by now. But I can't go back to the loft now. Not until I figure things out. I have to figure out whether or not I want things to keep going the way they're going between us.

            I sigh and wipe my face, deciding that I better start looking for a place to spend the night, since I don't think I'll be going back to the loft anytime soon. I finally settle down on a bench at Thompson Sq. Park and go back to thinking about the whole mess my life has become.

            The first thing my mind drifts to is Mark…and Mimi. Do I really love Mark? Did I love Mimi? I sigh, knowing the answer to both of those questions. Yes, I love Mark, and yes I loved Mimi. Just not in the way I love Mark now. And suddenly I know the answer. I know what I have to do.

            I can't stay with Mark anymore. I didn't even _love_ Mimi and look how upset I am now about her death! I have to end things now with Mark before things get even more out of hand…before our love and the relationship grows even more. Because the more it grows, the more it's going to hurt when one of us leaves. I'm scared of taking things even further because I know if Mark leaves me, I won't be able to withstand the loss.

            And I _know_ that one of us eventually will leave. And not too far in the future either. We both have AIDS - we only have about 10 years left, tops, probably shorter. Even if Mark sticks to his word and doesn't get fed up with me and leave, even if I don't ruin the relationship with my jealousy, one of us will still leave through death. And the longer I let this relationship continue, the more it's going to hurt when we do.

            I start crying again at the prospect of losing Mark. Leaving him is proving to be one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. I really felt like he was "the one." But…that's even more of a reason why things have to end _now_. If I'm this upset about Mimi, and I didn't even love her a fraction of how much I love Mark, I can only imagine the pain and heartache that will follow when my Mark dies.

            I close my eyes, trying desperately not to think of what I'll have to do come morning. If I think about it, I won't be able to do it. And it has to be done. Before things get even more out of hand than they are already.

*~The Next Morning~*

            I wake up suddenly, feeling a cold draft and roll over in my…bed? I open my eyes suddenly, having the feeling that I'm not in the loft or the hospital anymore. I survey my surroundings and it is then that I remember all the horrible events of the previous night.

            When I think about Mimi I start crying again, and am angry at myself for crying so much lately, when usually I'm the last one anyone would expect to see cry.

            Finally, when I pull myself together somewhat, I decide to go back to the loft, despite how much I'd do anything to avoid it and Mark right now. But I know Mark, and I know that he's probably worried sick by now so I walk there anyway, asking God for the strength to get through what I know I'll have to do when I get there.

            I stand before the door to the loft and hesitate before finally gathering up my courage and pushing the door open. When I walk in, I see Mark standing there with his jacket half on. He was probably going out to look for me. He doesn't say anything, he just stands there and I realize that what I'm about to say will break his heart. But not only his, mine too.

            "Roger?" he says tentatively and when I hear his voice I collapse on the floor and start sobbing again, cursing myself for being so weak.

            He rushes over to me and gets down next to me on the ground, trying to hug me. I pull away sharply, afraid that I'll give in and won't be able to say what needs to be said.

            He looks hurt and worried and that only makes me cry harder.

            "Roger, what's wrong? What happened?"

            He moves over to me again and tries to comfort me but I won't let him touch me.

            "Rog, I-"

            "Mark, I…I can't love…live with you anymore."

            He looks so hurt and I see tears brimming in his eyes behind his thick black glasses.

            "What??"

            "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but it's not going to work…"

            "Why not? What happened?"

            "I…you…" I take a deep breath, trying to stop crying long enough to get the words out.  "We have to stop this now because…because it's too good and it won't last, and if we keep going this way it's just going to h-hurt more when one of us leaves."  There. I said it. I did it and I hate myself.

            He starts crying too now, getting up off the floor and pacing around the room.

            "You know Roger, you weren't the only one scared of the other leaving! I was scared too! I was fucking just as insecure as you were! But I put my fears aside…and you know why? Because I had faith in you! I trusted you enough to know that you wouldn't do something like this, but I guess I was wrong…  I should have known you would do this, you always do…you fucking ALWAYS do this, Roger!"

            "I'm sorry," I whisper, crying too hard to say anything else.

            "Yeah, so am I. I'm sorry we ever started this in the first place!"

            I finally gain control of my sobs and stand up, going over to Mark and forcing him to look at me.  "Listen to me, Mark, it has to be this way…it _has_ to be because I love you…and I know you feel the same way. We have to stop it now before it goes even deeper because sooner or later, one of us is going to leave…"

            "Roger, I told you so many times, I'm not going to leave-"

            "If not that way than through death! And I don't think I'll be able to withstand that loss. That's why we have to stop now. Before it goes even deeper."

            He's silent for a moment, just letting his tears cascade down his cheeks. Finally he says, "Roger, what even made you start thinking this?"

            I open my mouth to tell him but choke on the words. Finally, I take a deep breath and choke out, "M-Mimi's dead," and then collapse on the ground, sobbing.


	13. Heading Out of Town

Roger POV:

            I stand alone in my now empty room, looking around and trying to memorize everything as it is. I want to remember everything about it, everything about this loft. Because in a few hours I'm leaving for Santa Fe and this time I don't plan on coming back.

            I just can't stay here knowing how I feel about Mark…and knowing that he feels the same way and that there's nothing that either of us can do about it. I'm just trying to save our friendship, save both of us from the pain that is sure to come if I _don't_ leave.

            I don't think I've cried so much since Mark got the results of his HIV test two years ago. I haven't been able to stop crying since I broke the news to Mark. He says he's worried about me, that he doesn't want me to go to Santa Fe now because I'm still sick and obviously grieving Mimi. I can't believe how much he still seems to care about me, even after what I did to him. But that's Mark…putting other people before himself like always.

            I'm going to miss him so much, there aren't even words to describe how horribly I feel about doing this to him…to us. But I know there's no other way. And who knows? Maybe I _will_ come back some day. It's just that I need time to work things out, my feelings and thoughts. And I know I can't do that in the loft with Mark around. Every time I see Mark I get depressed and hate myself for what I did but I don't take it back because I know it's for the best.

            I take one last look around my room to make sure I've got everything packed. I see something in the corner near my closet and I go over to see what it is. It's a small notepad with some lyrics I had been working on. I had written them with Mimi in mind, but now looking back, I can see that the lyrics fit more with Mark than Mimi.

            Had I known all along that Mark was the one I was really in love with? Had I always known and just not figured it out until recently? I reread the lyrics again and start crying, both from the fact that Mimi's dead and that my relationship and friendship with Mark is dead also.

            And that both things are my fault. I'm sure that Mimi would still be alive right now if I hadn't gotten so mad when she said those things to me, if I hadn't said things back and run away, proclaiming that I didn't need her in my life anymore. It's my fault she killed herself, if I hadn't gotten her so upset she would still be here. I would be able to help her through rehab, withdrawal… I would have been able to save her from herself, not killed her.

            Suddenly Mark enters my room, looking concerned when he sees me huddled up in the corner crying to myself. He doesn't look so great either. Mimi was his friend too and I know he's grieving her also. Not to mention the fact that we just broke up, not only as lovers but as friends also, and that I'm leaving for Santa Fe and probably not coming back for a long, long time…if at all.

            But despite his own pain and grievance he sits down on the floor next to me and says quietly, "You don't have to leave you know."

            I shake my head.  "Yes…yes I do have to leave."

            I can see tears forming again in those big, blue eyes of his and he stands up slowly.

            "Can't…can't you just stay a little longer, until Mimi's funeral? She would've wanted you to be there…"

            "No."  I shake my head firmly. If I don't leave now, I don't think I'll have the strength to leave at all. And as for Mimi's funeral, I just don't think I can handle that. It would be like finalizing it…the final proof that she really is gone. Going to that funeral would be like making it real. And I don't want it to be real. I'm not ready to deal with that yet. One life crisis at a time.

            I slowly gain control of my body again and stand up, wiping the tears from my eyes and cheeks. Mark and I stand there awkwardly for a few seconds, unsure of what to do or how to say goodbye. Finally, I give him a quick hug and am about to pull away but he won't let me and grabs my neck, pulling me into a kiss.

            At first I try to pull away, telling myself that this is wrong and that this is the reason I'm leaving in the first place, but as he deepens the kiss, I give up full resistance and let myself get lost in the pleasure and perfection, and the feeling of his soft lips on mine.

            I feel his tongue softly caressing my lips and I part my mouth to let him in, despite my brain's commands to run, to get the hell out of the loft before I do something I know I'll regret. But I just can't, my body is frozen to this spot and I can't control my own lips as they respond to the kiss and my tongue finds its way into his mouth.

            Finally, after a lifetime of pleasure and perfection, I find the strength to push him away, despite how I want nothing more than to kiss him again and stay with him forever, never leaving his side. But that's not an option and I know it. So using all the willpower and strength inside me, I somehow manage to say goodbye and force my legs to walk out the door and drive away in the car I bought last week when I sold my guitar.


	14. Without You

Mark POV:

            I sigh and stare at the screen on the wall blankly, watching old videos of Roger. I see our lives flicker by as the scenes change. The first scene is one of him and April, before their drug addiction. Then there is a gap in time, and the next shot is of him on Christmas Eve with his guitar, the night he met Mimi. After that are a bunch of shots of him with Mimi, laughing, fighting, making up…

And then there is one, which I shot just a few weeks ago, when he was getting out of the hospital. And this is the one that I watch over and over again, the one that makes me cry every time I watch it.

            In the shot, me and Roger are in his hospital room where he's packing his things and I'm filming him laugh and joke around. Then he tells me to put the camera down for a second and he wraps his arms around me and kisses me.

            "Thanks for being there for me Mark. Most people would've given up a long time ago."

            As the film ends, I throw a shoe at the now blank screen and cry for what seems like the hundredth time in the three weeks since Roger's been gone. He just left, without giving me an address or phone number…nothing. And he hasn't written or called or tried to contact me at all either.

            I haven't left the loft since he walked out on me that day. Collins, Maureen, and Joanne come by to visit every day, telling me that I have to get out, that I have to move on. They all know about me and Roger now. After he left I told them, and surprisingly, they weren't all that shocked that Roger and I were in love.

            Maureen even offered to set me up with some cute guy she knew but I don't want to date right now, and especially not other men. I still consider myself straight, except when it comes to Roger. I don't love him because he's a guy, I just love him because he's Roger. And I'm not attracted to other men, only him, so that technically does still make me straight.

            But even if it was a woman Maureen was trying to set me up with, I would still say no. I don't want to date anyone, male or female. After you've found the one person who's right for you - the only person you could ever be truly happy with - dating anyone else is just pointless because you'll never find happiness in anyone other than that person.

            Unfortunately, my one person is hundreds of miles away and is probably never coming back. I glance at the scar on my left wrist and wonder if I would be successful if I tried again.

            What point is there in living if you're alone? I stand up wearily and make my way over to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, where I take out a razor blade and twirl it in my fingers for a few seconds before holding it to my wrist.

            Suddenly, the phone rings and I drop the razor and race to the phone.

            "Hello? Roger?"

            There's a pause on the other line and I think for one, blissful second that it actually is Roger.

            "Um, no, it's Collins."

            I can hear the concern in his voice but I don't care, I hang up the phone without saying another word, and don't bother picking it up this time as it rings again and again.

            As I make my way back to the bathroom, I can't help but look around at the mess the loft has become since Roger's been gone. You know, I almost miss how everything was so obsessively clean and organized…  I even miss Roger's cries and protests at meal times and the adorable way he would play with his food before eating. I miss holding him in my arms and helping him eat, calming him down when the terror was too much…

            I sigh and with a sudden determination, I go back to the bathroom and pick up the razor on the floor. I hold it to my wrist again and press down but before I'm able to put any pressure on it at all, the razor is being ripped from my hands and thrown far from my reach.

            I look up, startled and angry at the intrusion, to find Collins standing right in front of me. I wonder how I hadn't noticed him walk in? I'd have to finish this another time…

            "Mark, what the hell are you doing?"

            "What does it look like?" I say bitterly and walk out of the bathroom.

            "It looks like you're trying to escape all your problems instead of dealing with them, taking the easy way out…remind you of anyone?"

            I glare at him angrily. "I don't want to talk about him."

            He continues anyway. "Haven't you always been the one to tell Roger that you have to deal with your problems instead of avoiding them? That by avoiding them you're only making things worse for yourself and everyone else?"

            "It's different…"

            "How?"

            I pause, trying to think of a reason. But the only one I can think of is the one that I would do anything to avoid talking about. Finally I just sigh and say, "You wouldn't understand."

            He takes my arm and pulls me down onto the couch next to him.

            "Yes I would."

            I turn around and look at him, wondering how he could possibly know what it's like.

            "You're forgetting that I lost someone too."

            I look down but don't say anything.

            "I know what it's like to lose someone you love that much…  But Mark, Roger's not gone for good. You haven't lost him forever. You can still find him, talk to him, and who knows? Maybe now that he's had some time to think he'll listen to you and come back."

            I shake my head, my eyes filling with unwanted tears.

            "No, he doesn't want me to find him. He doesn't want to come back. And even if I _did_ decide to find him, I wouldn't even know where to begin looking. He didn't give me an address or a phone number."

             Collins is quiet for a moment. After a while he says softly, "He wrote me a letter. That's what I was calling to tell you."

            I turn around suddenly and look at him.  "You have his address?"

            He nods and hands me a small slip of paper.

            I stare at the paper for a few seconds before saying anything. "What did he say to you?"

            "Not much. He just asked how you were, how you were holding up with everything. And he misses you."

            I look up suddenly. "He said that?"

            He hesitates. "Well, not in so many words… but the entire letter was about you, asking how you were and if you found someone new…  You can tell how much he still loves you."

            I shake my head. "Yeah, well according to Roger, that's _why_ he left in the first place."

            "So go find him! Convince him to come back, show him that you love him too and that you're not going to give up on him!"

            I start to protest but he interrupts me.

            "It's worth a try isn't it?"

            "But Collins, he doesn't want me to find him. He didn't give me an address or phone number and didn't try to call or write…"

            "Do you think he would have written to me if that was true? Don't you think he knew that as soon as I got his address I was going to give it to you?"

            "But-"

            "Mark, I know how it feels to lose the love of your life…  But you haven't lost yours yet. Go find him, talk to him… because nothing compares to the emptiness you feel when you lose the person you were meant to be with. I know. Go find him, talk to him before it's too late…  it's a lot better than this, isn't it?" he asks, holding up my wrist.

            I pull my wrist away and stare at it for a few seconds before nodding slowly.

            "Ok…"

            Collins smiles and then we start to plan for my trip to Santa Fe to get back Roger.


	15. Stop Escaping Your Pain

A/N: Almost done, just one more chapter to go! I have to say that for once I'm actually happy with the way a chapter came out. : )

Roger POV:

            I pick up the phone and dial the familiar number for the third time this past hour. My mind is screaming at me to hang up, like I've done every single other time, but this time my heart won't let me and I hear phone start to ring… and then the machine picks up.

            "SPEEEEEEAAAAAAK"

            _Beep_

            I slam the phone down, knowing that he's probably screening, but I just don't have the strength to leave a message. He probably hates me now anyway, after what I did to him. I hate myself too and I just can't forget everything that's happened…and the fact that it's all my fault. All of it. Mimi's drug addiction, her death, Mark and I breaking up…

            My stomach growls, which is yet another reminder of all the horrible deeds I've committed.

            _Shut up, you don't deserve food…you deserve to die here, alone in Santa Fe, without Mark, without Mimi, without anyone but your pathetic self…_

            I just nod in reply to the voices and go back to my "room" which is really just a corner of the tiny, one room apartment in which I now live.

            I begin to organize my clothes again, taking them out of their darkest-to-lightest color order and start arranging them in lightest-to-darkest, then rearranging the piles and types of clothes in each.

            Suddenly, there is a knock at the door and I wonder who in hell would be visiting me since no one here knows me. I figure it must be a salesman or one of those girlscouts selling cookies, so I touch each pile of clothes once, and then get up to open the door.

            I pull the door open and I literally almost pass out from shock when I see Mark standing in front of me.

Mark POV:

            _Ok, c'mon Mark, you can do this…_

            I've been sitting in the car I rented back in the city, in front of the address Collins gave me for the past half hour, trying to work up the courage to get out and knock on the door.

            It has crossed my mind more than once that it's very possible that this isn't even where Roger lives at all. It could just be some phony address he used to prevent any of us from finding out where he was.

            Finally, though, I manage to step out of the car and approach the door very slowly, preparing in my mind two speeches…one is the apology I'll give to the real owners of the apartment, and the second is for Roger, just in case he really _does_ live here.

            I finally make it to the door and knock a few times, not really sure which speech I want to give. 

            Luckily though, I don't have long too long to decide whether or not to stay or run, because the door opens and I see Roger for the first time in over a month.

            The speech that I was prepared to give though, quickly leaves my mind as I take in his sickly-looking appearance and the shock in which he's looking at me with.

            "Roger, you haven't been eating!"  The words leave my mouth before I even know what I'm saying and I immediately regret them. But to my amazement, he actually starts laughing.

            "Hello Mark, it's nice to see you too."

            "Sorry, um...hi."

            He chuckles again. "Hey. Um, do you want to come in?"

            I nod, too nervous to do much of anything else. I walk into his tiny apartment, not surprised when I see everything perfectly organized and arranged.

            "Um...nice apartment. It's very...clean..."

            He doesn't say anything and that's when I know for sure that he relapsed. I was praying at first that the weight loss was due to his grieving Mimi but the suspicious cleanliness of the apartment lets me know for sure that he's having problems again.

            "Um, is there anything to eat around here?" I quickly realize how suspicious I must sound and add, "Just 'cause, you know, it was a long drive..."

            He pauses for a second and then says, "There's a McDonalds down the street."

            Uh huh. No food in the apartment, I thought as much.

            "Mark, why did you come here?"

            "Because I lo - uh, I mean, I missed you."

            "Oh."

            There's an uncomfortable silence and neither of us looks at each other for a few seconds. Finally, I go over to him and hug him, not caring what he thinks anymore... I just want to hold him again, I missed him so much.

            He tries to struggle away at first but he finally gives into my embrace and wraps his arms around me as well. As I pull away, I see tears in his eyes and ask, "What's wrong?"

            He shakes his head and turns away from me.

            "We can't do this, Mark..."  
            "Do what?"  I try to sound innocent, like my reason in coming here wasn't to get back together with him, but just a friendly visit.

            "You know what I'm talking about. And we can't do it."

            I sigh. And suddenly, all the anger and depression that has been welling up in me since he left rises up to the surface, needing to be let out. "Why not, Roger? Because you're scared of commitment? Too scared to trust me...to trust anyone? Because the only relationship you want to be in is one with an eating disorder?"  
            "Stop it Mark, that's not fair!"

            "Why Roger? It's the truth! You're just scared to face the truth! You always push me away, you push _everyone away...you're never willing to trust people so you turn to an eating disorder instead to provide you with the security that people never can...because you don't let them! You're scared of attachment and the only attachment you'll ever have is with anorexia until you start letting people into your mind, letting them help you with your problems, instead of ignoring them and starving them out later. You run away from your problems, push them out of your mind and starve them out of your body. And that's really what it's all about!"_

            "Oh that's what it's about, huh? You have no fucking idea what it's like Mark, so don't give me any of that psychoanalysis bullshit! Yeah, I'm scared of attachment because everyone I've ever been attached to has left me!"

            "No, you're wrong. _I haven't left you...you're the one who left me. My father left me, Maureen left me, my friends left me, my mother left me, Cindy left me, and __you left me. But you don't see me running from my relationships and problems do you?"_

            He's about to say something but instead glances down at the floor and a minute later, back up at me, his eyes blazing.

            Suddenly he grabs my wrist and before I know what is happening he yanks up my sleeve, revealing the various scars of failed suicide attempts.

            "You don't run from your problems, huh?"

            I yank my arm back and hold it protectively at my side. I'm about to yell, to scream and protest but when I open my mouth all that comes out is a weak whisper.

            "What good is living if you're alone?"

            His face softens and I see tears form in those huge brown eyes of his.

            "I'm sorry, Mark, I'm so sorry...  Promise me you won't do that again, Mark, please promise me..."

            When I don't answer the tears starts escaping his eyes.

            "Oh my God, I'm killing you too..." He's speaking more to himself than he is to me. "I killed Mimi and now I'm killing you."

            He starts sobbing and I grab him, holding him close to me as he cries on my shoulder.

            "You're not killing me, Rog...you didn't kill Mimi."

            He tears away from me and looks right into my eyes for a second before turning away again.

            "You don't know what happened that night..."

            I put a hand on his shoulder. "Tell me."

            He starts shaking his head and I say, "Stop running for once, let someone help you instead of beating yourself up about it for the rest of your life."

            After a long pause, he finally says, "I...I went down there to talk to her, you know that part. But she was a mess...and she was using again, she was a junkie. And she was high when I went down there, and I knew that... I _knew it Mark, and I still took her seriously, I still...said those things to her..."_

            I rub his back.  "What did you say, Roger?"

            He takes a shaky breath before continuing. "She said she didn't want me in her life anymore because...because I didn't want her, didn't want women..." He stops for a few minutes, just letting himself cry before continuing. "She said I didn't like women because I had you now and...and she called you a f-faggot and I got mad and I said I went down there to apologize to her but she could fuck that and fuck herself because I-I had you now..."

            He can't go on anymore because he's crying too hard and I just hold him and let him cry, knowing that this is good for him and that he needs to get this out. Finally, he regains some control over his sobs and continues.

            "I left...and I didn't come back until much later...and by that time it was too late..." His voice trails off.

            "Rog, that wasn't your fault... You had no control over what she did. And believe me, suicide isn't something that you do spur of the moment, just because someone upsets you. She was probably already thinking about it, long before you went to see her that night."

            "But still...if I hadn't said those things, if I had gotten there a little just a little earlier, I could have saved her..."

            "Rog, you can't go back and change the past. There's no point in dwelling on what you could or could not have done. That'll only make things more confusing...make you hurt more."

            "But it's true! Mark, I was there too and I knew what it was like. I know that 90% of the things people say when they're as messed up as she was can't be taken for truth...and I still let her get to me, I still got mad and threw her words right back in her face..."

            "You _were mad Rog, and you had every right to be. You can't deny your emotions just because someone didn't mean something..."_

            He cuts me off. "But I didn't have to say the things I did. I shouldn't have let her affect me like that."

            "But Roger, you had no control over her actions! You're not the one that made her kill herself!"

            "She was a junkie again, because of me, Mark! If I hadn't been so stupid as to let her leave the hospital that day, if I had never gotten together with..."

            He stops himself but I know what he was going to say. And suddenly it all makes sense now.

            "Roger..." I don't know what to say so I just look down and shake my head sadly.

            "I'm sorry, Mark, I didn't mean that."

            "No, you did mean it. You don't want to be with me because you feel guilty. And you're scared that you'll lose me too."

            He doesn't say anything so I continue.

            "Fine, I understand. Roger, you can't be scared of getting close to people forever. What ever happened to no day but today? Listen, I'm going to give you a choice because I can't wait for you to make up your mind forever... I can't live anymore constantly wondering if you're ever going to come back or if we're over forever. So you can either come back to the loft with me right now, and let me help you deal with Mimi and everything else...or, you can tell me that we're over for good and I'll go turn around and go home, leaving you here with an eating disorder as your only love, your only friend, and your only life. It's up to you."

            He doesn't say anything for a while, the seconds tick by like lifetimes as I sit there waiting for him to make his decision. I wonder to myself why it's such a hard decision to make... Isn't what I have to offer him better than living alone with only an eating disorder to comfort him?

            I guess not. He still hasn't said anything so I stand up, knowing that I have to do this. I gave him a choice and this is his decision so I'm sticking to my word.

            "Well, I guess you made your decision then."

            I wait a few more seconds, just in case he changes his mind, but he doesn't. He just keeps sitting there staring at the floor, refusing to even look up at me. So with all the strength I have in my body, I somehow manage to carry myself out the door, down the driveway to the car, and get inside.

            But I don't drive away just yet. Instead, I sit there, crying, because this is it...it's final now. I lost him. For good. I know what I have to do when I get home. I have to finish what I started from before. Life without Roger is not a life at all, and I don't want to live in it without him.

            I finally manage to stop crying and start backing out of the driveway...away from my love, my best friend, away from my life...

Roger POV:

            I watch as Mark walks out the door and hate myself for not saying something. But I just can't get my voice to work...can't form the words that I know he needs to hear...the words I know I need to say.

            But are those words the right ones? What he's asking of me - to trust him, to trust people - can I do that? He wants me to let him into my mind, to have complete trust in him. But can I do that knowing that he's just going to leave me someday? How can I pour my heart out to someone and trust them so completely, just to have that person either leave me or die in a few short years? Can I really do what he's asking of me?

            I look out the window and see Mark sitting in the car, crying. I can see all the hurt and frustration on his face and suddenly know that I _can do that. I have to. If not for me than for Mark...for us._

            I jump up from my ratty couch and start rushing around my apartment, throwing things in my duffle bag, not even bothering to be neat for once. This doesn't take long, considering how little possessions I have, and five minutes later I'm racing down the driveway, trying to catch up with him before he's gone for good.

            I finally reach him, just as he starts to drive away and I run around to the drivers side and open the door.

            "I was wrong. I want you...I want _us."_

            "You mean...you...and me...?"  
            I have to laugh at the confusion that is evident in his voice. I nod and walk around the car, getting in the passenger seat.

            "Well, you're a better boyfriend than anorexia anyway."

            He laughs a little and then starts to cry.

            "I thought I lost you for good..."

            I shake my head and then lean in, kissing his tears away.

            "You're not gonna get rid of me that easily."

            He wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for a kiss that takes my breath away, leaving us both red faced and panting in the end. It was the most longed for kiss, and when we finally break apart he smiles and says, "Lets go home." 

            Then we drive away, back to New York, and towards a new life.


	16. There is no Future, There is no Past

A/N:  I rewrote the ending of this because I wasn't happy with it at all. It was really bugging me so I finally sat down and fixed it up. Please review and tell me what you think of it, and whether or not this one is better. If not, I can always repost what I had before. But hopefully you'll like this version a little better than the last. Enjoy!

Roger POV:

            I stare at the sea of faces in front of me as I stand at the center of the stage, microphone in hand. I've never gotten nervous while performing before but I'm nervous now. Because today, after keeping me and Mark's relationship in the dark for a year, I've decided to come out with the fact that I'm gay and very much in love with the man standing at the back of the crowd, smiling up at me.

            No one, not even the rest of the band knows what I'm about to do, and so far, the only ones that know about Mark and I are Collins, Maureen and Joanne. I know Mark is upset that I'm still keeping it in the dark, and we've gotten into many arguments over the issue. So I finally decided that it's time to swallow my pride and show my boyfriend, my Mark, off to the rest of the world.

            "Um, before I go on, I'd just like to take a moment to thank a very special person in my life…  Without him, I wouldn't be on this stage right now, I probably wouldn't even be alive. You saved my life and so much more…this one's for you, Mark."

_So he's holding me in his arms, and he's giving me sweet little kisses  
And he's telling me he'll never harm me, and he's whispering how wonderful this is  
And I tell him that I love him, and I tell him I'll be true  
And I've said these things to other girls, but right now the old words feel so new  
And I ask him "how did I get so lucky? I didn't even have to try"  
"I don't know," he says, "I'm nothing special, I'm just some guy."_

_And he's smiling like he means it, and he's stretched out on his back  
And he's telling me now that he loves me, for the fifth or the sixth time, I can't keep track  
And I watch his eyes as they shine, run my fingers through his hair  
And I touch his chest where his heart is, and I tell him "I find safe haven there"  
And I ask him, "how did you get to be so sweet and so kind?"  
"I don't know," he says, "I'm nothing special, I'm just some guy."  
And I say "You're heart is so big, and your mind's so alive, you have passion and freedom and vision and drive, you have so much to give and you give it with care, you have helped me to heal, and there's nowhere I won't go with you."_

_And he's holding me, now, even tighter, and he's breathing me in  
And he's telling me again that he loves me, and he's tracing his fingertips over my skin  
And I'm happier now than I've ever been, and I'm hoping this feeling won't die  
And if he says he's just some guy, that's fine, but the truth is, he's mine_

_My sweetheart, my love.  
Sent down from the sky.  
And so very much more than just some guy_

Mark POV:      

As the last chords of the song fade away, I notice Roger close his eyes for a second, probably nervous of everyone's reaction. But when he opens them he looks right at me and smiles. And I know that smile was meant for me, not anyone else. That song was the most beautiful thing I've heard from Roger since "Your Eyes"…and it was for me.

After the show, I go up to Roger, who's now standing in front of the stage, and hug him, trying to express with my body how I feel because I know words could never truly describe it.

            He kisses me sweetly on the lips, which surprises me, because he's always been hesitant to even hold my hand in public, let alone hug me or kiss me. But I don't object to it, I've gotten over my fear of people's judgment long ago… I've just been waiting for Roger. And it looks like tonight he finally decided to stop caring about other people and what they may think, and let the world know about our relationship.

            "I have a surprise for you," he whispers softly in my ear, when we finally break apart. He takes his hand in mine and I let him lead me down the street, all the while wondering what he has planned.

            As we walk down the street, hand in hand, I let my mind wander and think about everything that's happened this past year, everything we've been through. After Roger got home from Santa Fe he was a wreck. I had thought it would be a fairy tail happy ending, and that when we got home, things would be back to normal: Roger would play his guitar again and eat, and we would just lay together for hours…he would write me songs and we'd laugh, and overall just be happy to be in love.

            But that couldn't have been further from the truth. It was so hard at first to keep him from leaving me again. He was mourning Mimi and felt so guilty about us being together, after what had happened between them before she died. 

And Roger was sick again…really sick, like he was before he went into the hospital. I was even thinking about putting him there again, and almost did, but Roger did eventually come around and let me help him. And even though he was still dangerously underweight and couldn't eat at all, I decided that as long as he was trying, and open to letting me help him, that he didn't need to be in the hospital, because that at least was a big improvement in itself.

Now, a year later, Roger's doing a lot better. He's still mourning Mimi - he probably always will be – and he still has some problems eating, but for the most part he's almost fully recovered. 

Something that still scares me though, is that he can't eat in front of anyone except me, and can't go out to eat in public places where there are a lot of other people around. He can eat by himself, with minimal help, he rarely has panic attacks anymore, he eats a sufficient amount of food at every meal, but if he was to eat with, say, Maureen, or anyone else, he just can't do it…he has a panic attack and is just as bad as he was when he was in the hospital last year.

            Suddenly, I feel Roger tug at my hand and look up to see him walking us into the Life Café. I look up at him, wondering what's going on, but he just smiles down at me and doesn't say anything.

Roger POV:

            I look at the confusion on Mark's face and have to smile, knowing exactly what he's thinking. 'Why is Roger taking us to the Life Café? He can't eat in public yet.'

            And that part is my surprise to him, my one-year anniversary present. It was exactly one year ago that I came home from Santa Fe and decided to trust Mark, to let him into my mind and let him help me get better. It was one year ago exactly that I learned the meaning of love, and how to open up my heart to trust again. I'm not even sure if he remembers, but I do. This is the day that I really started to live again…the day I learned how to feel, instead of just stuffing all my emotions deep inside of me and ridding them from my soul, just like I rid the pounds from my body and the food from my stomach. 

            We sit down at a table and Mark leans over to me and whispers, "Rog, what's going on?"

            I smile again and say, "We're eating out. To celebrate one year of being healthy and one year of being happy."  And then I lean over and him and kiss him softly on the lips to let him know exactly what I'm talking about.

            "But…"  

He lets his voice trail off but I know what he's thinking. And that part is the surprise. He doesn't know that for the past few weeks I've been coming here with Collins, when I was supposedly "at rehearsal", to work on eating in public. It took a while, and since Collins hasn't been doing this with me for the past two years now, he wasn't as good as Mark with helping me, but I eventually calmed down enough to eat small amounts of food in public. 

            We order, and when our food comes, I take hold of Mark's hand out of both habit and nervousness, and begin to eat my tofu dog. I literally hear him gasp in surprise and I turn to look at him, smiling.

            "What?"

            "You…but… I thought you couldn't eat in public yet…"

            I smile.  "Happy anniversary."

            He shakes his head and smiles.  "You're such a dork."

            I shrug.  "Well other couples have anniversaries, why can't we?"

            He rolls his eyes.  "Because ours was three weeks ago…remember?" He chuckles a little.

            "No, that was when we got together. But it didn't seem like a real relationship, you know? It was kind of like we were just fooling around. Last year ago, today, was when you brought me home from Santa Fe. I don't really count the three weeks before that because it just didn't seem real. It became real when we trusted each other."

            He smiles.  "Yeah, that's true." He gives my hand a small squeeze, comforting me and helping me through my first meal eaten in public in over a year.

            I eat most of my dinner in silence, mostly because I'm too nervous to do anything but eat, but also because I'm a little embarrassed at having said those things to Mark. I'm still scared sometimes that he'll leave me, and it's still a little hard sometimes to trust him completely. But I try not to think about that, because I know that we're not going to be together forever. Nothing lasts forever.

            But, I mean, nothing does, right? Eventually one of us is going to die. That's just a fact of life. But that doesn't mean that our love has to die also. So, sure, I still have doubts that he'll get fed up and leave me, but he's stuck with me so far, and I can't always run from the things I'm scared of. I did that with food and almost died.

            Well, I don't want this relationship to die so this time I'm not running. Not anymore. I'm just enjoying each day we have together. Enjoying every kiss, every hug, treasuring every morning I wake up tucked in his arms and fall asleep by his side, and cherishing each moment we have together. Because our time here is short and each day might be our last. I've come to terms with the fact that this relationship won't last forever, but I know also that even though one of us is bound to die our love will last forever.

Lets face it, we both have AIDS so our time together is already shortened. And I want to get the most out of this relationship that I possibly can. I have to live each day to the fullest because who knows how much longer Mark and I will have together?

            I'm just taking each day as it comes and worrying about the problems if and when they arise. I love Mark and he loves me, and that's really all that matters. And the scary thing is that it took me almost dying to figure that out. It was so simple. It was there the whole time, staring me right in the face. I don't understand why it took so long for me to realize that. But it's true. Right now, that _is_ all that matters. Not my band, not my image, or friends, or parents…I don't love them. I love Mark. And nothing is going to change that.

            I'm finally starting to live no day but today.

~The End~

A/N:  Lyrics are to "Just Some Guy" by Anthony Rapp…which, I have to say, is one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard. *Sighs* This is the last chapter…I'm gonna miss writing this. So now that I've put you through 16 chapters of angst and M/R, let me know what you think, ok? Love it? Hate it? Let me know!


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